The 
UNDEFEATED 


OF  CAL1P.  LlBfim,  LOS 


The 

UNDEFEATED 


BY 

J.  C.  SNAITH 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  SAILOR,"  "BROKE  OF  COVBNDEN,"  ETC. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 
NEW  YORK  1919 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


DEDICATED  RESPECTFULLY 
TO 

«'A  DECENT  AND  A  DAUNTLESS  PEOPLE" 


2132934 


THE  UNDEFEATED 


IT  was  hot 
It  was  so  hot  that  a  certain  Mr.  William  Hollis 
sitting  on  an  old  bacon  box  in  the  lee  of  a  summer- 
house  in  his  lock-up  garden  had  removed  coat  and 
waistcoat  tie  and  collar,  rolled  up  the  sleeves  of  his 
shirt  and  loosened  his  braces.  The  presence  of  a 
neighbor's  elbows  on  the  party  hedge  forbade  a  com- 
plete return  to  nature,  but  the  freedom  of  Old  Man 
Adam  from  the  restraints  imposed  by  society  was  en- 
vied just  now  by  one  at  least  of  his  heirs. 

By  the  side  of  Bill  Hollis  was  a  stone  jar  of  Black- 
hampton  ale,  a  famous  brew,  but  even  this  could  not 
save  him  from  gasping  like  a  carp.  It  was  a  scorcher 
and  no  mistake — thick,  slab  and  hazy,  the  sort  of  heat 
you  can  almost  cut  with  a  knife. 

Leaning  gracefully  across  from  the  next  plot  was 
a  large,  rotund  gentleman  with  the  face  of  a  well 
nourished  ferret.  Draped  in  an  artful  festoon  be- 
neath an  old  straw  hat,  a  wreath  of  burdock  leaves 
defended  him  from  the  weather.  "Mr.  Hollis" — he 
addressed  the  man  on  the  bacon  box  with  conversa- 

i 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

tional  charm — "if  you  want  my  opinion  they're  put- 
ting in  a  bit  of  overtime  in  Hell." 

"Mr.  Goldman,  you've  got  it."  His  neighbor,  a  man 
of  somber  imagination,  was  struck  by  the  force  of 
the  image.  First  he  glanced  up  to  a  sky  of  burnished 
copper  and  then  he  glanced  down  over  the  edge  of 
sheer  hillside  upon  which  he  and  his  friend  were 
poised  like  a  couple  of  black  ants  on  the  face  of  a  hay- 
rick. Below  he  saw  a  cauldron  in  which  seethed  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  million  souls.  Floating  above  the 
cauldron  and  its  many  thousands  of  chimneys  was  a 
haze  of  soot  thick  enough  to  conceal  what  in  point  of 
mere  size  was  the  fourteenth  city  of  Great  Britain. 
But  speaking  geographically,  and  Blackhampton's  in- 
habitants were  prone  to  do  that,  it  was  the  exact  center 
of  England,  of  the  United  Kingdom,  of  the  British 
Empire,  and  therefore — 

Somewhere  in  the  mind  of  William  Hollis  lurked 
a  poet,  a  philosopher  and  an  artist.  He  pointed  over 
the  dip  of  the  hill  into  the  middle  of  the  cauldron. 
"Reminds  me,"  he  said,  half  to  himself,  for  he  was 
not  consciously  an  artist,  "of  the  Inferno  of  Dant, 
with  Lustrations  by  Door." 

Mr.  Goldman  frowned  at  the  simile.  What  else 
could  he  do?  He  was  a  solid  citizen,  of  a  solid  city, 
of  a  solid  empire:  he  was  not  merely  a  Philistine,  he 
was  proud  of  being  a  Philistine.  He  suddenly  remem- 
bered that  his  neighbor  was  a  failure  as  a  man  of 
business.  And  in  a  flash  Mr.  Goldman  knew  why. 

2 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"Yes,  Hollis — hot."  The  ferret-faced  gentleman 
spoke  with  more  caution  and  less  charm.  Commer- 
cially and  socially  he  was  secure,  but  the  same  could 
hardly  be  said  for  the  man  on  the  bacon  box  who 
spoke  of  the  Inferno  of  Dant  with  Lustrations  by 
Door — whatever  the  Inferno  of  Dant  with  Lustra- 
tions by  Door  might  be. 

"Hot  enough,  Mr.  Goldman,  to  melt  those  three 
brass  balls  of  yours."  It  was  a  graceful  allusion  to  a 
trade  symbol,  yet  a  prosperous  pawnbroker  felt  that 
in  making  it  a  semi-bankrupt  green  grocer  was  verg- 
ing upon  the  familiar.  He  had  just  reached  that  con- 
clusion when  a  boy  selling  papers  came  along  the  nar- 
row lane  that  ran  past  the  end  of  the  garden,  and 
thrust  a  tousled  head  over  the  fence. 

"Four  o'clock,  mister?" 

Bill  Hollis  produced  a  halfpenny.  A  minute  later 
he  produced  a  note  of  disgust.  "County's  beat.  York- 
shire won  by  an  innings  an'  four  runs.  Funny  thing, 
our  chaps  can't  never  play  against  Yorkshire — not 
for  sour  apples." 

Mr.  Goldman  gave  a  slow  deep  grunt  and  then  ar- 
tistically readjusted  his  garland. 

"Hirst  six  for  twenty-two.  Them  Tykes  can  bahl 
a  bit.  Rhodes  four  for  nineteen." 

Mr.  Goldman  grunted  again.  And  it  was  now  clear 
by  the  look  in  his  small  eyes  that  disapproval  was  in- 
tended. The  Inferno  of  Dant  with  Lustrations  by 
Door  was  still  in  his  mind.  Tnat  was  the  key  to  his 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

neighbor's  financial  failure,  but  this  squandering  of 
money,  time  and  brain  power  on  things  of  no  value 
was  just  as  significant. 

"Cricket."  The  tone  was  very  scornful.  "One  o' 
these  days  cricket  is  going  to  be  the  ruin  of  the  coun- 
try." 

William  Hollis  stoutly  dissented.  "It's  cricket  that 
makes  us  what  we  are." 

"It's  business,  Hollis,  that  makes  a  country."  There 
was  an  accession  of  moral  superiority  in  the  pawn- 
broker's tone.  "That's  the  thing  that  counts.  All  this 
sport  is  ruination — ruination,  Hollis — the  road  to  no- 
where." 

William  Hollis  was  unconvinced,  but  a  man  so  suc- 
cessful had  him  at  a  hopeless  disadvantage.  In  the- 
ory he  was  sure  that  he  was  right,  but  the  pawn- 
broker knew  that  he  had  just  made  a  composition  with 
his  creditors,  so  that  it  didn't  matter  how  sound  the 
argument  or  how  honest  the  cause,  he  was  out  of 
court.  Truth  doesn't  matter.  It  is  public  opinion  that 
matters.  And  public  opinion  is  conditioned  by  many 
subtleties,  among  which  a  banking  account  is  fore- 
most. 

Bill  Hollis  covered  his  retreat  from  a  position  that 
should  have  been  impregnable,  by  turning  to  another 
part  of  the  paper  which  was  the  Blackhampton  Even- 
ing Star. 

"Ultimatum  to  Serbia.  Ugly  situation.  I  don't 
think." 

4 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Mr.  Goldman  asked  why  he  didn't. 

"A  dodge  to  sell  the  paper." 

"I  expect  you're  right,"  said  the  pawnbroker  judi- 
cially. "They've  always  got  some  flam  or  other." 

"Civil  war  in  Ireland,"  announced  Bill  Hollis. 

"I  daresay.  And  next  week  we  shall  have  the  sea 
serpent  and  the  giant  gooseberry.  And  all  for  a  half- 
penny, mark  you.  We're  living  in  great  days,  Hollis." 

The  little  greengrocer  was  silent  a  moment  and  then 
he  said  thoughtfully,  "I  sometimes  think,  Mr.  Gold- 
man, what  this  country  wants  is  a  really  good  war." 

Mr.  Goldman  smiled  in  a  superior  way.  "Well,  I 
don't  mind  telling  you,"  he  said,  "that  I've  thought 
that  for  the  last  twenty  years.  Not  this  country  only, 
but  Europe,  the  whole  world." 

"You're  right,  Mr.  Goldman."  There  was  a  gran- 
deur in  the  conception  that  in  spite  of  the  weather 
almost  moved  his  neighbor  to  enthusiasm. 

"Stands  to  reason,  my  boy,  and  I'll  tell  you  why. 
The  world  is  overpoppylated.  Look  at  this  town  of 
ours."  With  the  finger  of  an  Olympian  the  pawn- 
broker pointed  down  the  hillside  to  the  smoking  caul- 
dron below.  "Poppylation  two  hundred  and  sixty  odd 
thousand  at  the  last  census.  And  when  I  first  set  up 
in  business,  the  year  before  the  Franco-Prussian  War, 
it  was  seventy-two  thousand.  And  it's  not  only  here, 
it's  all  over  the  world  alike." 

"That  is  so,  Mr.  Goldman.  And  they  say  that  in 

5 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

America  it's  even  worse.  In  fact,  wherever  you  look 
the  competition  is  cruel." 

"Yes,  Hollis,  a  real  good  war  would  do  a  power  of 
good.  We  want  Old  Boney  back  again — then  there 
might  be  breathing  space  for  a  bit.  As  it  is  this  coun- 
try is  overrun  with  aliens." 

William  assented  gloomily. 

"This  town  of  ours,  my  boy,  is  crawling  with  Ger- 
mans. They  come  over  here  and  take  the  bread  out 
of  our  mouths.  They  work  for  nothing  and  they  live 
on  nothing.  They  learn  all  our  trades  and  then  they 
go  back  to  the  Fatherland,  and  undersell  us." 

Said  Bill  Hollis  with  the  air  of  a  prophet,  "I  reckon 
that  sooner  or  later  we'll  be  having  a  scrap  with  the 
Germans." 

"Not  likely."  The  pawnbroker's  tone  was  a  little 
contemptuous.  "The  Germans  can  get  all  they  want 
without  fighting.  Peaceful  penetration's  their  game. 
They  are  the  cleverest  nation  in  the  world.  In  an- 
other twenty  years  they'll  own  it  all." 

Upon  this  last  expression  of  his  wisdom  Mr.  Gold- 
man gave  a  final  touch  to  his  straw  hat  and  its  cool 
garland,  waddled  down  a  box-bordered  path  and  out 
of  the  gate  at  the  bottom  of  his  garden. 


II 


THE  departure  of  Mr.  Goldman  left  a  void  in 
the  heart  of  Mr.  William  Hollis.  He  was  a 
sociable  man,  with  a  craving  for  the  company  of  his 
fellows,  and  although  for  quite  a  long  time  now  his 
distinguished  neighbor  had  been  clearly  labeled  in  his 
mind  as  "a  pursy  old  pig,"  he  was  an  interesting  per- 
son to  talk  to  when  he  was  in  the  humor.  He  was 
not  always  in  the  humor,  it  was  true,  for  he  was  a 
"warm"  man,  an  owner  of  house  property;  therefore 
he  was  in  the  happy  position  of  not  having  to  be  civil 
to  anybody  when  he  didn't  feel  like  it  This  after- 
noon, however,  he  had  unbent 

The  slowly  receding  form  of  Mr.  Goldman  waddled 
along  by  the  hedge,  turned  into  the  lane,  passed  from 
view.  In  almost  the  same  moment  William  Hollis 
felt  a  severe  depression.  He  had  reached  the  stage 
of  life  and  fortune  when  he  could  not  bear  to  be  alone. 
With  a  kind  of  dull  pain  he  realized  that  this  was  his 
forty-first  birthday  and  that  he  had  failed  in  life. 

He  was  going  down  the  hill.  Unless  he  could  take 
a  pull  on  himself  he  was  done.  Already  it  might  be 
too  late.  The  best  part  of  his  life  was  behind  him. 
A  year  ago  that  day,  in  this  very  garden,  his  only 
source  of  happiness,  he  had  told  himself  that;  two 

7 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

years  ago,  three  years  ago,  five  years  ago,  this  had 
been  the  burden  of  his  thoughts.  But  he  was  in  a  rut 
and  there  seemed  to  be  no  way  out. 

Twenty  years  ago  he  had  felt  it  was  in  him  to  do 
something.  He  was  an  ambitious  young  fellow  with 
a  mind  that  looked  forward  to  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row. Such  a  man  ought  to  have  done  something.  But 
now  he  knew  that  there  had  been  a  soft  spot  in  him 
somewhere  and  that  a  moral  and  mental  dry  rot  had 
already  set  in.  He  was  a  talker,  a  thinker,  a  dreamer ; 
action  was  not  his  sphere.  Unless  he  took  a  strong 
pull  on  himself  he  was  out  of  the  race. 

He  poured  what  remained  of  the  jar  of  ale  into  the 
earthenware  mug  he  kept  for  the  purpose — Black- 
hampton  ale  tastes  better  out  of  a  mug — and  drank  it 
slowly,  without  relish.  Then  he  cut  a  few  flowers  to 
take  home  to  his  wife — to  the  wife  who  hadn't  spoken 
to  him  for  nearly  a  week — arranged  them  in  a  bunch, 
with  the  delicacy  of  one  unconsciously  sensitive  to 
form  and  color,  looped  a  bit  of  twitch  neatly  round 
them,  put  on  his  coat,  a  stained  and  worn  alpaca,  put 
on  his  hat,  a  battered,  disreputable  straw,  cast  the 
eye  of  a  lover  round  his  precious  garden,  locked  its 
dilapidated  green  door  and  started  down  the  lane  and 
down  the  hill  towards  the  city. 

It  was  now  five  o'clock  and  a  little  cooler,  yet  Wil- 
liam Hollis  walked  very  slowly.  There  was  a  lot  of 
time  to  kill  before  the  day  was  through.  But  his 
thoughts  were  biting  him  harder  than  ever  as  he  turned 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

into  the  famous  road  leading  to  the  city,  known  as 
The  Rise.  This  salubrious  eminence,  commanding  the 
town  from  the  northeast,  was  sacred  to  the  city  mag- 
nates. When  a  man  made  good  in  Blackhampton, 
really  good,  he  built  a  house  on  The  Rise.  It  was 
the  ambition  of  every  true  Blackhamptonian  to  ex- 
press his  individuality  in  that  way.  Until  he  had 
achieved  a  house  entirely  to  his  own  fancy  and  taste 
on  The  Rise,  no  son  of  Blackhampton  could  be  said 
really  to  have  "arrived." 

William  Hollis  trudged  slowly  along  a  well  kept 
road,  between  two  irregular  lines  of  superb  villas, 
gleaming  with  paint  and  glass,  standing  well  back 
from  the  road  in  ample  grounds  of  their  own,  with 
broad  and  trim  gravel  approaches.  The  first  on  the 
right  was  Rosemere,  the  residence  of  Sir  Reuben  Jope, 
three  times  Mayor  of  Blackhampton,  a  man  of  large 
fortune  and  robust  taste,  whose  last  expression  was 
greenhouses  and  conservatories.  They  were  said  to 
produce  fabulous  things — flowers,  fruits,  shrubs, 
plants  known  only  to  tropical  countries.  Many  a  time 
from  afar  had  Bill  gazed  upon  them  with  rather  wist- 
ful awe. 

A  little  farther  along  was  The  Haven,  the  ances- 
tral home  of  the  Glints,  a  famous  Blackhampton  fam- 
ily whose  local  prestige  was  on  a  par  with  that  of 
the  Rothschilds  in  the  city  of  London.  Across  the 
road  was  The  Gables,  the  modest  house  of  Lawyer 
Mossop,  the  town's  leading  solicitor ;  then  on  the  right, 

9 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

again,  the  reticulated  dwelling  of  the  philanthropic 
Stephen  Mortimore,  head  of  the  great  engineering 
firm  of  Mortimore,  Barrow,  and  Mortimore.  For  a 
true  son  of  Blackhampton  these  were  names  to  con- 
jure with.  Even  to  walk  along  such  a  road  gave  one 
a  feeling  of  worldly  success,  financial  security,  aris- 
tocratic exclusiveness. 

Still  a  little  further  along  on  the  left  was  what  was 
clearly  intended  to  be  the  piece  de  resistance  of  The 
Rise.  It  was  the  brand-new  residence  of  the  very  lat- 
est arrival  and  no  house  had  been  more  discussed  by 
Blackhampton  society.  It  was  intended  to  eclipse 
every  other  dwelling  on  The  Rise,  but  it  was  of  non- 
descript design,  half  suburban  villa,  half  mediaeval 
castle.  From  the  aesthetic  standpoint  the  result  was 
so  little  satisfactory  that  a  local  wit  had  christened  it 
"Dammit  'All." 

As  "Dammit  'All"  came  into  view,  Bill  Hollis  found 
an  almost  morbid  fascination  in  gazing  at  its  turrets 
and  the  tower  so  regally  crowning  them.  It  was  the 
house  of  his  father-in-law,  Mr.  Josiah  Munt.  Sixteen 
years  ago,  in  that  very  month  of  July,  an  ambitious 
young  man  had  married  his  master's  eldest  daughter. 
Melia  Munt  had  espoused  Bill  Hollis  in  direct  defiance 
of  her  father's  wishes  and  had  lived  long  enough  al- 
ready to  rue  the  day.  Josiah,  at  that  time,  was  not  the 
great  man  he  had  since  become,  but  he  was  a  hard, 
unbending  parent;  and  he  gave  Melia  to  understand 
clearly  that  if  she  married  Hollis  he  would  never 

10 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

speak  to  her  again.  Melia  chose  to  defy  him,  as  he 
always  thought  out  of  sheer  perversity,  and  her  im- 
placable father  had  been  careful  to  keep  his  word  to 
the  letter.  Not  again  did  he  mention  her  name;  not 
again  did  her  old  home  receive  her. 

In  those  sixteen  years  Josiah  Munt  had  gone  up 
in  the  world,  and  if  William  Hollis  could  not  be  said 
to  have  come  down  in  it,  he  had  certainly  made  very 
little  headway.  At  the  time  of  his  marriage  he  was 
the  chief  barman  at  "the  Duke  of  Wellington,"  an 
extremely  thriving  public  house,  at  the  corner  of 
Waterloo  Square  in  the  populous  southeastern  part 
of  the  city.  He  was  now  a  small  greengrocer  in  Love 
Lane,  within  a  stone's  throw  of  the  famous  licensed 
house  of  his  father-in-law,  and  he  was  continually 
haunted  by  the  problem  of  how  much  longer  he  would 
be  able  to  carry  on  his  business.  On  the  other  hand, 
his  old  master  had  prospered  so  much  that  he  had  re- 
cently built  for  himself  a  fine  house  on  The  Rise. 

Mr.  Josiah  Munt  was  still  the  owner  of  the  Duke  < 
of  Wellington.  Over  the  top  of  its  swing  doors  his 
name  appeared  below  the  spirited  effigy  of  the  Iron 
Duke  as  "licensed  to  sell  wines,  spirits,  beer  and  to- 
bacco," but  years  ago  he  had  ceased  to  reside  there 
with  his  family.  As  far  as  possible  he  liked  to  dis- 
associate himself  from  it  in  the  public  mind,  but  he 
was  too  shrewd  a  man  to  part  with  the  goose  that  laid 
the  golden  eggs;  besides,  in  his  heart,  there  was  a 
tender  spot  for  the  old  house  which  had  been  the 

ii 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

foundation  of  his  fortunes.  His  womenfolk  might 
despise  it ;  in  some  ways  he  had  outgrown  it  himself ; 
but  he  knew  better  than  to  crab  his  luck  by  parting 
with  an  extremely  valuable  property  which  at  the 
present  time  was  not  appreciated  at  its  true  worth  by 
the  surveyor  of  rates  and  taxes. 

As  William  Hollis  trudged  along  the  dusty  road 
and  his  father-in-law's  new  and  amazing  house  came 
into  view,  he  became  the  prey  of  many  emotions.  The 
sight  of  this  magnificence  was  a  bitter  pill  to  swallow. 
It  brought  back  vividly  to  his  mind  the  scene  that  was 
printed  on  it  forever — the  scene  that  followed  his  diffi- 
dent request  for  the  hand  of  Melia.  He  could  still 
hear  the  stinging  taunts  of  his  employer,  he  could  still 
feel  the  impact  of  Josiah's  boot.  It  may  have  been 
that  boot — for  women  are  queer! — which  caused  the 
final  capitulation  of  Melia.  But  the  hard  part  was  that 
time  had  justified  the  prediction  of  her  far-sighted 
parent.  Melia  in  throwing  herself  away  on  "a  man 
of  no  class"  would  do  a  bad  day's  work  when  she 
married  Hollis. 

It  had  been  the  son-in-law's  intention  to  give  the  lie 
to  that  prophecy.  But! — there  was  a  kink  in  him 
somewhere.  He  had  always  loved  to  dream  of  the 
future,  yet  he  had  not  the  power  of  making  his  dreams 
come  true.  If  only  he  had  had  a  good  education!  If 
only  he  had  known  people  who  could  have  put  him 
on  the  right  road  to  success  when  he  was  young  and 
sharp  and  the  sap  was  in  his  brain!  If  only  there 

12 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

hadn't  been  so  much  competition,  so  much  to  fight 
against;  if  only  he  could  have  had  a  bit  of  luck;  if 
only  Melia  had  really  cared  for  him;  if  only  he  hadn't 
speculated  with  the  hundred  pounds  she  had  inherited 
from  her  Aunt  Elizabeth ;  if  only  he  wasn't  so  apt  to 
be  hurt  by  things  that  didn't  matter  a  damn ! 

William  Hollis  was  a  disappointed  and  embittered 
man.  Life  had  gone  wrong  with  him;  but  a  small  jar 
of  Blackhampton  Old  Ale  softens  failure  and  evokes 
the  quality  of  self-pity.  However,  as  he  approached 
Mr.  Munt's  gate  and  gained  a  clearer  view  of  the  new- 
est and  most  imposing  house  on  The  Rise,  the  sense 
of  failure  rose  in  him  to  a  pitch  that  was  hard  to 
bear.  So  this  was  what  Melia's  father  had  done! 
No  wonder  she  despised  a  man  like  himself.  It  was 
not  very  surprising  after  all  that  she  hardly  threw  a 
word  to  him  now  from  one  day's  end  to  another. 


Ill 


A  MAN  in  an  apron  that  had  once  been  white  and 
in  a  cloth  cap  that  had  once  been  navy  blue 
was  painting  a  series  of  bold  letters  on  Mr.  Josiah 
Munt's  front  gate.  Bill  Hollis  was  overwhelmed  with 
depression,  but  at  this  interesting  sight  curiosity 
stirred  him.  He  advanced  upon  the  decorative  artist 
who  was  whistling  gently  over  a  job  in  which  he  took 
a  pride  and  a  pleasure.  Upon  the  ornate  front  of  the 
large  green  gate  was  being  inscribed  the  word 

STRATHFIELDSAYE 

Bill  recognized  the  artist  as  a  near  neighbor  of  his 
own  in  Love  Lane. 

"Working  for  the  Nobs,  are  you,  Wickens?" 
There  was  a  world  of  scorn  in  the  tone  of  William 
Hollis,  a  world  of  sarcasm.  And  yet  what  was  scorn 
and  what  was  sarcasm  in  the  presence  of  a  hard  fact, 
clear,  outstanding,  fully  accomplished! 

The  artist  expectorated  a  silent  affirmative. 

"Piecework,  I  suppose?  Cut  rates?"  Mr.  Munt 
had  the  reputation  of  being  a  very  keen  man  of  busi- 
ness. 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

The  artist  was  too  much  absorbed  in  his  labors  to 
indulge  in  promiscuous  talk. 

William  Hollis  peered  through  the  gate,  to  the  rows 
of  newly  planted  shrubs  on  either  side  the  curving 
carriage  drive.  "Bleeding  upstart"  he  muttered; 
then  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  on  up  the  road. 

He  had  gone  but  a  few  yards  when  quite  unex- 
pectedly he  came  upon  a  massive  figure  in  a  black 
and  white  checked  summer  suit  and  a  white  billy- 
cock hat  worn  at  a  rather  rakish  angle.  It  was  his 
father-in-law  and  they  were  face  to  face. 

Mr.  Munt  was  proceeding  with  a  kind  of  elephan- 
tine dignity  along  the  exact  center  of  the  sidewalk, 
and  instinctively,  before  he  was  aware  of  what  he  had 
done,  his  son-in-law  by  stepping  nimbly  into  the 
grassgrown  gutter  had  conceded  it  to  him.  But  in 
almost  the  same  instant  he  scorned  himself  for  his 
action;  and  the  gesture  of  lordly  indifference  with 
which  the  proprietor  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  di- 
rected his  gaze  upon  the  western  gables  of  Strathfield- 
saye,  without  a  flicker  of  recognition  of  the  person 
who  had  made  way  for  him,  suddenly  brought  Wil- 
liam Hollis  to  the  bursting  point. 

The  world  allows  that  in  a  stone  jar  of  Blackhamp- 
ton  Old  Ale  there  are  magic  qualities;  and  far  down 
in  Bill  himself  was  hidden  some  deep  strain  of  inde- 
pendent manhood.  The  City  records  proved — vide 
Bazeley's  famous  Annals  of  Blackhampton,  a  second- 
hand copy  of  which  was  one  of  his  most  cherished  pos- 

15 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

sessions — that  the  name  of  Hollis  had  been  known 
and  honored  in  the  town  long  before  the  name  of 
Munt  had  been  heard  of.  The  Hollises  were  an  old 
and  distinguished  Blackhampton  clan.  A  William 
Hollis  was  mayor  of  the  Borough  in  the  year  of  the 
Armada.  It  was  a  family  of  wide  ramifications. 
There  was  the  great  John  Hollis  the  inventor,  circa 
1724-1798,  there  was  Henry  Hollis  the  poet,  circa 
1747-1801.  Of  these  their  present  descendant  was  a 
kinsman  so  remote  that  the  science  of  genealogy  had 
lost  track  of  their  actual  relationship.  But  beyond 
a  doubt  his  father's  uncle,  Troop  Sergeant  Major 
William  Hollis,  had  fought  at  Waterloo.  He  himself 
was  named  after  that  worthy,  and  the  old  boy's  por- 
trait and  portions  of  his  kit  had  long  embellished  the 
sitting  room  in  Love  Lane. 

It  was  then,  perhaps,  force  of  ancestry  quite  as 
much  as  the  virtue  of  the  Blackhampton  ale  that 
moved  William  Hollis  to  his  sudden  and  remarkable 
act  of  self-assertion.  For  as  Josiah  Munt  passed  him, 
head  in  air,  and  weather  eye  fixed  upon  the  western 
gables  of  Strathfieldsaye,  his  son-in-law  stopped, 
swung  round  and  called  after  him  in  a  voice  that 
could  be  heard  even  by  the  decorative  artist  at  work 
on  the  gate — 

"Sally  out  of  Quod  yet?" 


IV 


BY  not  so  much  as  the  quiver  of  an  eyelid  did  Mr. 
Munt  betray  that  he  had  even  heard,  much  less 
taken  cognizance,  of  that  which  amounted  to  a  stud- 
ied insult  on  the  part  of  William  Hollis.  The  pro- 
prietor of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  converged  upon  the 
gate  of  Strathfieldsaye  with  head  upheld,  with  dig- 
nity unimpaired.  He  even  cast  one  cool  glance  at  the 
handiwork  of  the  inspired  Wickens,  but  made  no  com- 
ment upon  it,  while  the  artist  suspended  his  labors, 
opened  the  gate  obsequiously,  and  waited  for  the 
great  man  to  pass  through.  But  when  Mr.  Munt  had 
walked  along  the  carriage  drive  to  within  a  few  yards 
of  his  newly  bedizened  front  door,  he  stopped  all  of  a 
sudden  like  a  man  who  has  received  a  blow  in  the  face. 
Had  Bill  Hollis  at  that  moment  been  able  to  obtain 
a  glimpse  of  his  father-in-law  he  would  have  seen 
that  his  shaft  had  gone  right  home.  A  sternly  domi- 
neering countenance  was  distorted  with  passion. 
There  was  a  rage  of  suffering  in  the  fierce  yellow- 
brown  eyes,  there  was  a  twist  of  half  strangled  tor- 
ment in  the  lines  of  the  hard  mouth.  As  the  lord  of 
Strathfieldsaye  stood  clenching  his  hands  in  the  cen- 
ter of  the  gravel  he  was  not  an  attractive  figure.  Be- 
fore entering  the  house  he  took  off  the  white  hat  and 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

soothed  the  pressure  upon  head  and  neck  by  passing 
over  them  a  red  bandanna  handkerchief. 

A  trim  parlor  maid,  bright  as  a  new  pin,  received 
the  lord  of  Strathfieldsaye.  The  smart  and  shining 
creature  was  in  harmony  with  her  surroundings. 
Everything  in  the  spacious  and  lofty  entrance  hall 
shone  with  paint  and  polish,  with  new  curtains,  new 
carpets,  new  fittings,  new  furniture. 

Mr.  Munt  handed  his  hat  to  the  parlor  maid  rather 
roughly.  "Tea's  in  the  drawing-room,  sir,"  she  said, 
calmly  and  modestly.  It  was  the  air  of  a  very  su- 
perior servant. 

Josiah  went  into  the  drawing-room  and  found  two 
ladies  drinking  tea  and  consuming  cake,  strawberries 
and  cream  and  bread  and  butter.  One  was  a  depressed 
lady  in  puce  silk  to  whom  her  lord  paid  little  atten- 
tion ;  the  other  was  much  more  sprightly,  although  by 
no  means  in  the  first  blush  of  youth.  She  had  the 
air  of  a  visitor. 

Before  heralding  his  arrival  by  any  remark,  Mr. 
Munt  gazed  with  an  air  of  genuine  satisfaction  round 
the  large  cool  room  smelling  of  paint  and  general 
newness,  and  then  he  said  in  a  tone  of  rather  grim 
heartiness  to  the  more  sprightly  of  the  two  ladies, 
"Well,  Gert,  what  do  you  think  on  us?" 

There  was  a  careful  marshaling  of  manner  on  the 
part  of  the  lady  addressed  as  Gert.  "Almost  too 
grand,  Josiah — since  you  ask  my  opinion.  Still  I've 
been  telling  Maria  that  she  must  show  Spirit." 

18 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

The  nod  of  Josiah  might  be  said  to  express  ap- 
proval. Miss  Gertrude  Preston  was  a  half-sister  of 
his  wife,  and  she  was  perhaps  the  only  woman  among 
his  strictly  limited  acquaintance  who  was  able  to  sus- 
tain a  claim  to  his  respect.  She  had  character  and 
great  common  sense  and  having  acted  for  many  years 
as  resident  companion  to  no  less  a  person  than  Law- 
yer Mossop's  aunt,  the  late  Miss  Selina  Gregg,  she 
had  seen  something  of  the  world.  Upon  all  subjects 
her  views  were  well  considered  and  uncommonly 
shrewd;  therefore  they  were  not  to  be  passed  over 
lightly.  Aunt  Gerty  was  a  favorite  of  Josiah,  not 
merely  for  the  reason  that  "she  knew  a  bit  more  than 
most,"  but  also  because  she  was  clever  enough  to  play 
up  to  his  rising  fortunes  and  growing  renown. 

"Maria  shown  you  round?"  said  Josiah,  accepting 
a  cup  of  tea  from  the  graceful  hands  of  his  sister-in- 
law. 

The  depressed  lady  in  puce  silk  sighed  a  limp  yes. 

"Eggshell  china  tea  service,"  Gerty  fixed  a  pur- 
poseful eye  upon  Josiah's  cup. 

"Out  of  old  Nickerson's  sale,"  Josiah  performed 
an  audible  act  of  deglutition.  "Four  pun  ten  the  set. 
Slop  basin's  cracked  though." 

"I  see  it  is,  but  you  have  a  bargain,  Josiah.  You 
always  seem  to  have  a  bargain,  no  matter  what  you 
buy." 

Josiah  purred  under  the  subtle  flattery. 

"Seen  that  chayney  vawse  ?"  He  pointed  across  the 

19 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

room  to  a  pedestal  upon  which  was  a  blue  china  bowl. 

"Looks  like  genuine  Ming,"  Gertrude  opened  a 
pair  of  long-handled  tortoise-shell  glasses.  There  was 
less  than  a  score  of  ladies  in  the  whole  of  Blackhamp- 
ton  who  sported  glasses  of  that  ultra- fashionable  kind, 
but  Miss  Preston  was  one  of  them. 

"That  young  feller  Parish  said  it  was  genuine  and 
he  ought  to  know." 

"Charming,"  Gerty  sighed  effectively;  then  her  eyes 
went  slowly  round  the  room.  "This  room  is  perfect. 
And  such  a  view.  You  stand  so  high  that  you  can 
look  right  over  the  city  without  knowing  that  it's 
there.  And  there's  the  Sharrow  beyond.  Isn't  that 
Corfield  Weir  on  the  right?" 

Rather  proudly  Josiah  said  that  it  was  Corfield 
Weir. 

"And  that  great  bank  of  trees  going  up  into  the 
sky  must  be  Dibley  Chase." 

"Dibley  right  enough,"  vouched  Josiah.  "Have 
you  had  a  look  from  the  tower?" 

"Yes,  I  have.  Wonderful.  Maria  says  on  a  clear 
day  you  can  see  Cliveden  Castle." 

"Aye.  And  a  sight  farther  than  that.  You  can 
see  three  counties  up  there.  To  my  mind,  Gert,  this 
house  stands  on  the  plumb  bit  of  The  Rise." 

Gertrude  fully  agreed. 

"So  it  ought  if  it  comes  to  that.  I  had  to  pay  seven 
and  sixpence  a  yard  for  the  land,  before  I  could  put 
a  brick  on  it." 

20 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Gertrude  was  impressed. 

"What  do  you  think  o'  that  oak  paneling  in  the  din- 
ing room?" 

She  thought  it  was  charming. 

"Has  Maria  shown  you  the  greenus — I  should  say 
conservatory — an'  the  rockery — an'  the  motor  gar- 
idge?  We  haven't  got  the  motor  yet,  but  it's  com- 
ing next  week." 

Gertrude  had  seen  these  things.  It  only  remained 
for  her  to  enter  upon  a  diplomatic  rapture  at  the  re- 
cital of  their  merits. 

"No  strawberries,  thank  you,"  Josiah's  voice  was 
rather  sharp  as  the  depressed  lady  tactlessly  offered 
these  delicacies  at  a  moment  when  her  lord  was  fully 
engaged  in  describing  the  unparalleled  difficulties  he 
had  had  to  surmount  in  order  to  get  the  water  foun- 
tain beyond  the  tennis  lawn  to  work  properly. 

"Fact  o'  the  matter  is,  our  Water  Board  wants 
wackenin'  up." 

"Well,  you  are  the  man  to  do  that,  Josiah.  You 
are  an  alderman  now." 

"I  am."  The  slight  note  of  inflation  was  uncon- 
scious. "And  old  Scrimshire  an'  that  petti foggin1 
crew  are  goin'  to  have  a  word  in  season  from  Alder- 
man Munt." 

"Mustn't  get  yourself  disliked  though." 

Josiah  smiled  sourly.  "Gel,"  he  said,  "a  man  worth 
his  salt  is  never  afraid  o'  being  unpopular.  Right  is 
right  an'  wrong  is  no  man's  right.  Our  Water  Board's 

21 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

got  to  be  run  on  new  lines.  It's  a  disgrace  to  the 
city." 

Miss  Preston  was  far  too  wise  to  offer  an  opinion 
upon  that  matter.  She  knew,  none  better,  the  limits 
imposed  by  affairs  upon  the  sex  to  which  she  belonged. 
But  she  was  very  shrewd  and  perceptive  and  under- 
neath the  subtle  flatteries  she  dealt  out  habitually  to 
this  brother-in-law  of  hers  was  a  genuine  respect  for 
great  abilities  and  his  terrific  force  of  character. 

Among  all  the  outstanding  figures  in  Blackhampton 
his  was  perhaps  the  least  attractive.  His  name,  in 
polite  circles,  was  almost  a  byword,  for  he  never 
studied  the  feelings  of  anybody;  he  deferred  only  to 
his  own  will  and  invariably  took  the  shortest  way  to 
enforce  it.  There  was  generally  a  covert  laugh  or 
a  covert  sneer  at  the  mention  of  his  name  and  the 
house  he  had  recently  built  on  The  Rise  had  set  a 
seal  upon  his  unpopularity.  Nevertheless,  the  people 
who  knew  him  best  respected  him  most.  His  sister- 
in-law  knew  him  very  well  indeed. 

Maria  poured  out  a  second  cup  of  tea  rather  nerv- 
ously for  Josiah  to  whom  Miss  Preston  handed  it 
archly. 

"No  cake,  thanks.  I  dussent."  He  tapped  his  chest 
significantly ;  then  he  cast  a  complacent  glance  through 
the  wide-flung  drawing-room  windows  to  the  fair 
pleasaunce  beyond.  "So  you  think,  Gert,  take  it  al- 
together, this  is  a  cut  above  Waterloo  Villa,  eh?" 

22 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Gertrude's  only  answer  to  such  a  question  was  a 
discreet  laugh. 

"Waterloo  Villa  was  so  comfortable,"  sighed  the 
depressed  lady  in  puce  silk. 

"But  there's  no  comparison,  Maria,  really  no  com- 
parison." It  was  wonderful  how  the  caressing  touch 
of  the  woman  of  the  world  dispersed  the  cloud  upon 
Josiah's  brow  almost  before  it  had  time  to  gather. 

"Of  course  there  isn't,  Gerty.  Any  one  with  a  grain 
o'  sense  knows  that.  Why,  only  this  morning  as  I 
went  down  in  the  tram  with  Lawyer  Mossop,  he  said, 
'Mr.  Munt,  this  new  house  of  yours  is  quite  the  pick 
of  the  basket.'  " 

"It  is,  Josiah."  The  discreet  voice  rose  to  enthu- 
siasm. "And  no  one  knows  that  better  than  Maria." 

The  lady  in  puce  silk  gave  a  little  sigh  and  a  little 
sniff.  "Waterloo  Villa  was  quite  good  enough  for 
me"  she  murmured  tactlessly. 


THERE  was  silence  for  a  moment  and  then  said 
Josiah  :  "Talking  of  Lawyer  Mossop — that  re- 
minds me.  I'm  going  round  to  see  him.  I  wonder 
what  time  he  gets  back  from  his  office."  He  looked 
at  his  watch.  "Quarter  past  five.  Bit  too  soon,  I 
suppose." 

Maria  ventured  to  ask  what  he  wanted  Lawyer 
Mossop  for. 

Josiah  did  not  answer  the  question  immediately. 
When  he  did  answer  it  his  voice  had  such  a  depth 
of  emotion  that  both  ladies  felt  as  if  a  knife  had 
been  plunged  suddenly  into  their  flesh. 

"I'm  goin'  to  take  our  Sally  out  of  my  will."  There 
was  something  almost  terrible  in  the  sternness  and 
finality  of  the  words. 

The  depressed  lady  in  puce  silk  gave  a  gasp.  A 
moment  afterwards  large  tears  began  to  drip  freely 
from  her  eyes. 

Aunt  Gerty  sat  very  upright  on  a  satinwood  chair, 
her  hands  folded  in  front  of  her,  and  two  prominent 
teeth  showing  beyond  a  line  of  extremely  firm  lips. 
She  didn't  speak. 

"Nice  thing" — each  word  was  slowly  distilled 
from  a  feeling  of  outrage  that  was  almost  unbear- 

24 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

able — "to  be  made  the  talk  and  the  mark  of  the 
whole  city.  And  after  what  I've  done  for  that  gel! 
School — college  —  France  —  Germany  —  your  advice, 
you  know,  Gerty " 

Aunt  Gerty  didn't  speak. 

"And  then  she  comes  home  and  gets  herself  six 
weeks'  hard  labor.  Hard  labor,  mark  you !" 

Both  ladies  shivered  audibly. 

"Nice  thing  for  a  man  who  has  always  kept  him- 
self up,  to  have  his  daughter  pitchin'  brick  ends 
through  the  windows  of  the  Houses  o'  Parliament,  to 
say  nothin'  of  assaulting  the  police.  Gerty,  that  comes 
of  higher  education." 

Still  Aunt  Gerty  didn't  speak. 

"Fact  is,  women  ain't  ripe  for  higher  education. 
It  goes  to  their  heads.  But  I'll  let  her  see.  In  a  few 
minutes  I'll  be  off  round  to  Lawyer  Mossop." 

"But — Josiah!"  ventured  a  quavering  voice. 

"Not  a  word,  Mother.  My  mind's  made  up.  That 
gel  has  fairly  made  the  name  o'  Munt  stink  in  the 
nostrils  of  the  nation.  Not  ten  minutes  ago  that 
rotten  little  dog  Bill  Hollis  flung  it  in  my  teeth  as  I 
came  in  at  the  front  gate.  The  little  wastrel  hap- 
pened to  be  passing  and  he  called  after  me,  'Sally  out 
of  Quod  yet?'  One  o'  these  days  I'll  quod  him — the 
little  skunk — or  Josiah  Munt  J.P.  is  not  my  name." 

Maria  continued  to  weep  copiously  but  in  silence. 
She  dare  not  make  her  grief  vocal  with  the  stern  eye 
of  her  husband  upon  her.  The  tragedy  of  her  eldest 

25 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

girl's  defiance,  now  sixteen  years  old,  was  still  green 
in  her  memory.  Josiah  had  given  Amelia  plainly  to 
understand  that  if  she  married  William  Hollis  he 
would  never  speak  to  her  again  and  he  had  kept  his 
word.  Maria  had  not  got  over  it  even  yet;  and  now 
their  youngest  girl,  Sally,  on  whose  upbringing  a  fab- 
ulous sum  had  been  lavished,  had  disgraced  them  in 
the  sight  of  everybody. 

Josiah  was  meting  out  justice  no  doubt,  but  moth- 
ers are  apt  to  be  irrational  where  their  offspring  are 
concerned;  and  had  Maria  been  able  to  muster  the 
courage  she  would  have  broken  a  lance  with  him,  even 
now,  in  this  matter  of  the  youngest  girl.  But  she  was 
afraid  of  him.  And  she  knew  he  was  in  the  right. 
Sally's  name  had  appeared  in  all  the  papers.  That 
morning,  by  a  cruel  stroke,  they  had  come  out  with 
her  portrait — Miss  Sarah  Ann  Munt,  youngest  daugh- 
ter of  Alderman  Munt  J.P.  of  Blackhampton,  sen- 
tenced to  six  weeks  hard  labor.  Yes,  it  was  cruel! 
It  would  take  her  father  a  long  time  to  get  over  it. 
And  for  Maria  herself,  it  was  like  the  loss  in  in- 
fancy of  the  young  Josiah;  it  was  a  thing  she  would 
always  remember  but  never  quite  be  able  to  grasp. 

The  silence  grew  intolerable.  At  last  it  was  broken 
by  Gertrude  Preston. 

"You'll  be  having  splendid  roses,  Josiah — next 
year."  Those  mincing  tones,  quite  cool  and  untrou- 
bled, somehow  did  wonders.  Josiah  had  always  been 
a  noted  rose  grower  and  as  his  sister-in-law  pointed 

26 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

elegantly  to  the  rows  of  young  bushes  beyond  the 
drawing-room  windows  something  in  him  began  to 
respond.  After  all  that  was  his  great  asset  as  a 
human  entity:  the  power  to  react  strongly  and  read- 
ily to  the  many  things  in  which  he  was  interested. 

"Aye,"  he  said,  almost  gratefully.  "Next  year 
they'll  be  a  sight.  I've  had  a  double  course  o'  manure 
put  down." 

"I  hope  there'll  be  some  of  my  favorite  Gloire  de 
Dijons,"  said  Gerty  with  fervor. 

"You  bet  there  will  be.  There's  a  dozen  bushes 
over  yond.  By  the  way,  Gert,  you're  comin'  to  the 
show  to-morrow  week." 

Miss  Preston,  for  all  her  enthusiasm  for  roses,  was 
not  sure  that  she  could  get  to  the  show.  But  Josiah 
informed  her  that  she  would  have  to  come.  And  he 
enforced  his  command  by  taking  a  leather  case  from 
his  breast  pocket  and  producing  a  small  blue  card 
on  which  was  printed : 

BLACKHAMPTON  AND  DISTRICT  ROSE  GROWERS' 
ASSOCIATION 

PRESIDENT,  ALDERMAN  JOSIAH  MUNT  J.P. 

The  twenty-seventh  annual  Show  will  be  held  in  the  Jubilee 
Park  on  Tuesday,  August  the  Fourth.     Prizes  will  be  presented 
at  six  o'clock  to  successful  competitors  by  Mrs.  Alderman  Munt. 
The  Blackhampton  Prize  Brass  Band  will  be  in  attendance. 
Dancing  in  the  evening,  weather  permitting. 

Admission  one  shilling. 

"That'll  get  you  in,  Gert."  The  card  was  placed  in 
her  hand.  "Come  and  stand  by  Maria  and  keep  her 
up  to  it." 

27 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Had  Maria  dared  she  would  have  groaned  dismally. 
As  it  was  she  had  to  be  content  with  a  slight  gesture 
i  of  dismay. 

"You  see  it'll  be  a  bit  o'  practice  for  her.  In  1916 
— the  year  after  next — she'll  be  the  Mayoress." 

The  lady  in  puce  silk  shuddered  audibly. 


VI 


IN  the  process  of  time  the  clock  on  the  drawing- 
room  chimneypiece  chimed  six  and  Josiah  "stepped 
round"  to  Lawyer  Mossop's. 

That  celebrity  lived  at  The  Gables,  the  next  house 
but  one  along  The  Rise.  Outwardly  a  more  modest 
dwelling  than  Strathfieldsaye,  it  was  less  modern  in 
style,  more  reticent,  more  compact.  As  Josiah  walked 
up  the  drive  he  noted  with  approval  its  well-kept  ap- 
pearance and  its  fine  display  of  rhododendrons,  phlox, 
delphiniums,  purple  irises  and  many  other  things  that 
spoke  to  him.  He  was  a  genuine  lover  of  flowers. 

Mr.  Hunt's  pressure  of  the  electric  button  was  an- 
swered by  a  manservant  in  a  starched  shirt  and  a  neat 
black  cutaway.  The  visitor  noted  him  carefully  as 
he  noted  everything.  "I  wonder  what  he  pays  a  month 
for  that  jockey !"  was  the  form  the  memorandum  took 
on  the  tablets  of  his  mind. 

"Mr.  Mossop  in?" 

"If  you'll  come  this  way  I'll  inquire,  sir." 

Josiah  was  led  across  a  square-tiled  hall,  covered 
in  the  center  by  a  Persian  rug,  into  a  room  delightfully 
cool,  with  a  large  window  in  a  western  angle  opening 
on  to  a  pergola  ablaze  with  roses,  along  which  the 
westering  sun  streamed  amazingly. 

29 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"What  name,  sir?" 

"Hey?"  Josiah  frowned.  As  if  there  was  a  man, 
woman  or  child  in  Blackhampton  who  didn't  know 
him!  Still,  it  was  good  style.  "Munt — Mr.  Munt." 

"Thank  you,  sir!"  The  manservant  bowed  and 
withdrew. 

Yes,  it  was  good  style.  And  this  cool,  clean  but 
rather  somber  room  had  the  same  elusive  quality. 
Three  of  its  four  walls  were  covered  with  neat  rows 
of  books,  for  the  most  part  in  expensive  bindings. 
Style  again.  All  the  same  the  visitor  looked  a  little 
doubtfully  upon  those  shining  shelves.  Books  were 
not  in  his  line,  and  although  he  did  not  go  quite  to 
the  length  of  despising  them  he  was  well  content  that 
they  shouldn't  be.  Books  stood  for  education,  and  in 
the  purview  of  Mr.  Josiah  Munt,  "if  they  didn't  watch 
it  education  was  going  to  be  the  ruin  of  the  country." 

Still  to  that  room,  plainly  but  richly  furnished,  those 
rows  of  shining  leather  lent  a  tone,  a  value.  A  shrewd 
eye  ran  them  up  and  down.  Meredith — Swinburne — 
Tennyson — Browning  —  Dickens  —  Thackeray  —  all 
flams,  of  course,  but  harmless,  if  not  carried  too  far. 
Personally  he  preferred  a  good  billiard  room,  but  no 
one  in  Blackhampton  disputed  that  Lawyer  Mossop 
was  the  absolute  head  of  his  profession;  he  could  be 
trusted  therefore  to  know  what  he  was  doing.  There 
was  one  of  these  books  open  on  a  very  good  table — 
forty  guineas  worth  of  anybody's  money — printed  in 
a  foreign  language,  French  probably,  of  which  he 

30 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

couldn't  read  a  word.  II  Purgatorio,  Dante.  Fine  bit 
of  printing.  Wonderful  paper!  Yes,  wonderful!  He 
handled  it  appraisingly.  And  then  he  realized  that 
Lawyer  Mossop  was  in  the  room  and  smiling  at  him 
in  that  polite  way,  that  was  half  soft  sawder,  half 
good  feeling.  The  carpet  was  so  thick  that  he  had 
not  heard  him  come  in. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Munt."  The  greeting  was  very 
friendly  and  pleasant.  "Sit  down,  won't  you?" 

"No,  I'll  stand — and  grow  better."  Mr.  Munt  had 
a  stock  of  stereotyped  pleasantries  which  he  kept  for 
social  use.  They  seemed  to  make  for  ease  and  geni- 
ality. 

The  two  men  stood  looking  at  each  other,  the  solici- 
tor all  rounded  corners  and  quiet  ease,  the  client  stiff, 
angular,  assertive,  perhaps  a  shade  embarrassed. 

"Anything  I  can  do  for  you,  Mr.  Munt?" 

The  answer  was  slow  in  coming.  It  was  embodied 
in  a  harsh  growl.  "Mossop,  I  want  you  to  take  that 
gel  of  mine,  Sally,  out  of  my  will." 

The  lawyer  said  nothing,  but  pursed  his  lips  a  little, 
a  way  he  had  when  setting  the  mind  to  work,  but  that 
was  the  only  expression  of  visible  feeling  in  the  heav- 
ily lined  face. 

"Excuse  my  troubling  you  to-night,  Mossop.  But 
I  felt  I  couldn't  wait.  Give  me  an  appointment  for 
the  morning  and  I'll  look  in  at  the  office.  Nice  goings 
on!  And  to  think  what  her  education  cost  me!" 

The  lawyer  made  a  silent  gesture,  spreading  his 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

hands  like  a  stage  Frenchman,  half  dismay,  half  tacit 
protest. 

"Better  have  a  new  document,  eh?"  The  outraged 
parent  had  been  already  dismissed ;  the  highly  compe- 
tent man  of  affairs  was  now  in  control.  "My  second 
girl,  Ethel,  Mrs.  Doctor  Cockburn,  can  have  it  all  now, 
except" — Josiah  hesitated  an  instant — "except  five 
thousand  pounds  I  shall  leave  to  Gertrude  Preston." 

Lawyer  Mossop  was  still  silent.  But  the  mobile 
lips  were  working  curiously.  "Not  for  me  to  advise," 
he  said  at  last,  very  slowly,  with  much  hesitation,  "but 
if  I  might " 

Josiah  cut  him  short  with  a  stern  lift  of  the  hand. 

"I  know  what  you're  going  to  say,  but  if  she  was 
your  gel  what'd  you  do,  eh  ?" 

Lawyer  Mossop  rubbed  his  cheek  perplexedly.  "At 
bottom  I  might  be  rather  proud  of  her." 

"You — might — be — rather — proud — of — her !"  It 
was  the  tone  of  Alderman  Munt  J.P.  to  a  particularly 
unsatisfactory  witness  at  a  morning  session  at  the  City 
Hall.  An  obvious  lie,  yet  a  white  one  because  it  was 
used  for  a  moral  purpose.  Mossop  had  no  ax  to 
grind;  he  merely  wanted  to  soften  things  a  bit  for  a 
client  and  neighbor.  "You  can't  tell  me,  Mossop,  you 
really  think  that" 

The  solicitor  gazed  steadily  past  the  purple  face  of 
his  client  through  the  open  window  to  the  riot  of  color 
beyond.  "Why  not?"  he  said.  "Think  of  the  pluck 
required  to  do  a  thing  like  that." 

32 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Josiah  shook  his  head  angrily.  "It's  the  devil  that's 
in  her."  He  spoke  with  absolute  conviction.  "And 
it's  always  been  there.  When  she  was  that  high" — he 
made  an  indication  with  his  hand — "I've  fair  lam- 
moxed  her,  but  I  could  never  turn  her  an  inch.  If  she 
wanted  to  do  a  thing  she'd  do  it — and  if  she  didn't 
nothing  would  make  her." 

"A  lady  of  strong  character." 

"Cussedness,  my  friend,  cussedness.  The  devil. 
And  it's  brought  her  to  this." 

The  lawyer,  however,  shook  his  head  gently.  "Well, 
Mr.  Munt,  as  I  say,  it  is  not  for  me  to  advise,  but  if 
she  was  a  daughter  of  mine " 

"You'd  be  proud  of  her."  The  sneer  was  rather 
ugly. 

"In  a  way — yes — perhaps  ...  I  don't  say  positive- 
ly ...  because  one  quite  sees  .  .  .  On  the  other 
hand,  I  might  ...  I  don't  say  I  should  ...  I  might 
be  just  as  angry  as  you  are." 

The  thundercloud  began  to  lift  a  little.  "Come  now, 
that's  sense.  Of  course,  Mossop,  you'd  be  as  mad  as 
anybody — it's  human  nature.  Every  Tom,  Dick,  and 
Harry  pointin'  the  finger  of  scorn" — Sally  out  of  Quod 
yet  was  still  searing  him  like  a  flame — "you'd  be  so 
mad,  Mossop,  that  you'd  want  to  forget  that  she  be- 
longed to  you." 

"It  might  be  so."  Mr.  Mossop's  far-looking  eyes 
were  still  fixed  on  the  pergola.  "At  the  same  time, 
before  I  took  any  definite  step,  I  think  I  should  give 

33 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

myself  a  clear  fortnight  in  which  to  think  it  over." 

Josiah  laughed  harshly.  "No,  Mossop — not  if  you 
were  as  mad  as  I  am." 

It  was  so  true  that  the  solicitor  was  not  able  to 
reply. 

"When  I  think  on  her" — the  great  veins  began  to 
swell  in  the  head  and  neck  of  the  lord  of  Strathfields- 
aye — "I  feel  as  if  I'd  like  to  kill  her.  Did  you  see  that 
picture  in  the  Morning  Mirror?  And  that  paragraph 
in  the  Mail?  It's  horrible,  Mossop,  horrible.  And 
first  and  last  her  education's  cost  me  every  penny  of 
three  thousand  pound." 

Mr.  Mossop  nodded  appreciatively;  then,  sympa- 
thetically, he  lifted  the  lid  of  a  silver  box  on  a  charm- 
ing walnut-wood  stand  and  asked  his  visitor  to  have 
a  cigar. 

"No,  I  never  smoke  before  my  dinner,"  said  Jo- 
siah sternly.  "She  hasn't  been  home  a  month  from 
Germany."  The  veins  in  his  forehead  grew  even  more 
distended. 

"Where — in  Germany?" 

"Eight  months  at  Dresden.  Pity  she  didn't  stop 
there.  Fact  o'  the  matter  is  she's  over-educated." 

The  lawyer  looked  a  little  dubious. 

"Oh,  yes,  Mossop.  Not  having  a  boy,  I  don't  mind 
tellin'  you  I've  been  a  bit  too  ambitious  for  that  gel. 
And  over-education  is  what  this  country  is  suffering 
from  at  the  present  time.  It's  the  national  disease. 
And  women  take  it  worse  than  men.  School — college 

34 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

— Paris — and  Germany  on  the  top  of  'em.  I  must 
have  been  mad.  However  .  .  .  there  it  is!  ...  let 
me  know  when  the  document's  ready  and  I'll  look  in 
at  the  office  and  sign  it." 

The  lawyer  would  have  liked  to  continue  his  protest 
but  the  face  of  his  client  forbade.  He  crossed  to  his 
writing  table,  took  up  a  pencil  and  a  sheet  of  note- 
paper  and  said,  "Miss  Sarah's  portion  to  Mrs.  Cock- 
burn  except " 

"Five  thousand  pounds  to  Gertrude  Preston." 

The  lawyer  made  a  brief  note.  "Right,"  he  said 
gravely.  "I  hope  a  codicil  will  be  sufficient ;  we'll  avoid 
a  new  instrument,  if  we  can.  You  shall  know  when 
it's  ready." 

Josiah  gave  a  curt  nod. 

"Going  to  be  war  in  Europe,  do  you  think?"  said 
the  solicitor  in  a  lighter,  more  conversational  tone. 
It  was  merely  to  relieve  the  tension ;  somehow  the  at- 
mosphere of  the  room  was  heavy  and  electric. 

"Don't  know,"  said  Josiah.  "But  I'll  not  be  sur- 
prised if  there  is — and  a  big  one." 

Mr.  Mossop  showed  a  courteous  surprise.  This 
question  of  a  coming  big  war  was  a  perennial  subject 
for  discussion  in  social  and  business  circles.  It  had 
been  for  years  and  it  had  now  come  to  rank  in  his 
mind  as  purely  academic.  He  could  not  bring  himself 
to  believe  in  "the  big  burst  up"  that  to  some  astute 
minds  had  long  seemed  inevitable. 

"Any  particular  reason  for  thinking  so  just  now?" 

35 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

To  the  lawyer  it  was  hardly  a  live  issue;  somehow  it 
was  against  all  his  habits  of  thought;  but  it  was  an  act 
of  charity  at  this  moment  to  direct  the  mind  of  his 
client. 

"Stands  to  reason,"  Josiah  spoke  with  his  usual  de- 
cision. "Germany's  got  thousands  of  millions  locked 
up  in  her  army.  She'll  soon  be  looking  for  some  re- 
turn in  the  way  of  dividends." 

"But  one  might  say  the  same  of  us  and  our  navy." 

"That's  our  insurance." 

"That's  how  they  speak  of  thei-r  army,  don't  they? 
— with  Russia  one  side  of  them,  France  the  other." 

"I  daresay,  but" — there  was  a  pause  which,  brief 
as  it  was,  seemed  to  confer  upon  Mr.  Munt  an  air 
of  profound  wisdom — "mark  my  words,  Mossop, 
they're  not  piling  up  all  these  armaments  for  nothing. 
It's  not  their  way." 

"But  they  are  so  prosperous,"  said  the  lawyer. 
"They  are  hardly  likely  to  risk  the  loss  of  their  for- 
eign markets." 

"Nothing  venture,  nothing  win.  And  they  do  say 
the  German  workingman  is  waking  up  and  that  he  is 
asking  for  a  share  in  the  government." 

"One  hears  all  sorts  of  rumors,  but  in  these  matters 
one  likes  to  be  an  optimist." 

"I  daresay,"  Josiah  looked  very  dour.  "But  I'll  tell 
you  this.  I'm  main  glad  I  got  out  of  all  my  Conti- 
nental investments  a  year  last  March." 

The  solicitor  had  to  own  that  that  was  a  matter  in 

36 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

which  his  client  had  shown  uncommon  foresight.  The 
present  state  of  the  market  was  a  remarkable  vindica- 
tion of  his  sagacity. 

There  was  another  little  pause  in  which  the  solicitor, 
himself  an  able  man  of  business,  could  not  help  re- 
flecting upon  the  native  shrewdness  of  this  client  so 
keen,  so  hardheaded,  so  self-willed.  And  then  it  was 
broken  by  Mr.  Munt  taking  a  step  towards  the  door 
and  saying,  "When  are  you  and  the  wife  and  daugh- 
ter coming  to  see  us,  Mossop?  Come  to  a  meal  one 
evening,  won't  you?" 

The  invitation  was  point  blank ;  but  behind  the  law- 
yer's genial  courtesy  was  the  trained  fencer,  the  ready- 
witted  man  of  the  world.  "Most  kind  of  you,"  he 
said  heartily.  "Only  too  delighted,  but,  unfortunately, 
my  womenfolk  are  going  up  to  Scotland  to-morrow" — 
he  gave  private  thanks  to  Allah  that  it  was  so ! — "and 
I  follow  on  Saturday,  so  perhaps  if  we  may  leave  it 
till  our  return" — The  solicitor  raised  his  frank  and 
ready  smile  to  the  stern  eyes. 

"Quite  so,  Mossop!"  The  client  frowned  a  little. 
"Leave  it  open.  But  I'd  like  you  to  see  the  house. 
And  Mrs.  M.  would  like  to  know  your  wife  and 
daughter." 

"They'll  like  to  know  her,  I'm  sure."  The  air 
of  sincerity  was  balm.  "But  they've  been  so  busy 
gadding  about  just  lately" — the  laugh  was  charming 

-"that  they've  had  to  neglect  their  social  duties." 

Josiah  was  far  too  elemental  to  feel  slighted,  even 

37 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

if  the  lawyer  had  not  been  so  disarming.  "But  you 
people  here  on  The  Rise  have  the  name  of  being  a 
stuck-up  lot,  especially  some  of  you  old  standards. 
And  I'm  bound  to  say,  Mossop,  my  experience  is  that 
you  seem  to  live  up  to  it." 

Lawyer  Mossop  laughed  his  soft  rich  note  as  he 
followed  Mr.  Munt  across  the  hall.  He  opened  the 
front  door  for  his  client,  and  then,  hatless  as  he  was, 
accompanied  the  visitor  down  the  short  drive  as  far 
as  the  gate. 

"Nice  things  here,  Mossop,"  Josiah  pointed  to  the 
flower  beds  on  either  side.  "That  a  Charlotte  Fan- 
ning?" A  finger  indicated  a  glorious  white  rose  whose 
dazzling  purity  of  color  stood  out  beyond  all  the  rest. 

Mr.  Mossop  said  it  was  a  Charlotte  Fanning. 

"Not  sure  you  are  going  to  beat  mine,  though." 

Mr.  Mossop  said  modestly  that  he  did  not  expect  to 
do  that  Mr.  Munt  had  long  been  famous  for  his 
roses;  and  by  comparison  the  lawyer  declared  he  was 
but  a  novice.  The  client  was  flattered  considerably  by 
the  compliment. 

At  the  gate,  the  proprietor  of  the  Duke  of  Welling- 
ton pointed  to  the  distant  gables  of  Strathfieldsaye,  and 
said,  "Well,  come  round  when  you  get  back.  The 
garden  won't  be  much  of  a  show  for  twelve  months 
yet,  but  the  house  is  first  class.  I  designed  it  myself." 

With  the  winning  charm  which  even  Josiah,  who 
felt  that  he  paid  for  it  on  the  High  Court  scale  could 

38 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

not  resist,  Mr.  Mossop  promised  that  he  would  come 
round  when  he  got  back. 

"An'  don't  forget  the  wife  and  daughter." 

The  wife  and  daughter  should  come  round  too.  And 
then  as  the  lord  of  Strathfieldsaye  said,  "Good-night, 
Mossop,"  and  was  about  to  turn  away  from  the  open 
gate,  he  felt  suddenly  the  hand  of  the  solicitor  upon 
his  shoulder  and  the  impact  of  a  pair  of  grave,  kind 
eyes.  "I  wish,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Lawyer  Mossop, 
"you  could  see  your  way  to  taking  a  fortnight  to 
think  over  that  little  matter." 

It  was  not  mere  conventional  man-of-the-worldly 
good  feeling.  It  was  the  human  father,  and  the  sheer 
unexpectedness  of  the  obtrusion  through  the  highly 
polished  surface  of  the  city's  foremost  solicitor  caused 
his  client  to  take  a  sharp  breath.  But  Josiah's  strength 
had  always  been  that  he  knew  his  own  mind.  And  he 
knew  it  now.  "No,  Mossop."  A  final  shake  of  the 
dour  head.  "That  gel  is  comin'  out  of  my  will.  Good- 
night." 

The  solicitor  sighed  gently  and  closed  the  gate.  And 
then  he  stood  a  moment  to  watch  the  slow-receding 
lurch  of  the  elephantine  figure  up  the  road. 


VII 


IF  that  boy  had  lived — which  he  didn't,"  reflected 
the  lord  of  Strathfieldsaye  as  he  opened  carefully 
the  fresh  painted  gate  of  his  own  demesne,  "I'd  like 
him  to  have  been  educated  at  Rugby." 

Lawyer  Mossop  had  been  educated  at  Rugby.  Some- 
how that  gentleman  always  left  in  the  mind  of  this 
shrewd,  oddly  perceptive  client  an  impression  of  being 
"just  right,"  of  not  having  anything  in  excess.  His 
reputation  in  Blackhampton  was  very  high.  Just 
as  Dr.  Perrin  had  been  for  years  its  leading  physi- 
cian, Mr.  Mossop  had  been  for  years  its  leading  law- 
yer. To  be  a  patient  of  the  one,  a  client  of  the  other, 
almost  conferred  a  diploma  of  merit.  Not  only  was 
it  a  proof  in  itself  of  social  standing,  an  ability  "to 
pay  for  the  best,"  but  it  also  expressed  a  knowledge, 
greatly  valued  by  the  elect,  that  the  best  was  worth 
paying  for.  Josiah  was  a  firm  believer  in  that  maxim. 

Still  ...  he  closed  the  gate  of  Strathfieldsaye  as 
carefully  as  he  had  opened  it  .  .  .  when  all  was  said 
education  was  dangerous.  Up  to  a  point  a  good  thing, 
no  doubt.  You  couldn't  be  a  Lawyer  Mossop  with- 
out it.  But  it  was  like  vaccination:  some  people  it 
suited,  others  it  didn't. 

40 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

There  was  a  trim  slight  figure  coming  down  the 
path,  in  a  hat  not  without  pretensions  to  fashion. 

"Leaving  us,  Gert?"  said  Josiah.  "Better  stop  to 
supper." 

Miss  Preston  reluctantly  declined  the  invitation. 

"Why  not?  Always  a  knife  and  fork  for  you  here, 
you  know." 

"I'd  love  to,  Josiah,  but  they'll  be  waiting  for  me 
at  home." 

"Well,  if  you  won't,  you  won't — but  you'd  be  very 
welcome."  And  then  he  embraced  the  house  and  its 
surroundings  in  a  large  gesture.  "One  better  than 
Waterloo  Villa,  eh?" 

"It  is,"  said  Gerty,  with  tempered  enthusiasm.  She 
looked  at  her  brother-in-law  with  wary  eyes.  "You 
must  be  a  very  rich  man,  Josiah." 

He  narrowed  his  gaze  a  little  and  scratched  his 
cheek  delicately  with  the  side  of  his  forefinger,  an  odd 
trick  he  had  when  thinking  deeply  on  questions  of 
money.  "So,  so,"  he  said.  "So,  so." 

"But  a  place  like  this  means  heaps  of  money," 
Gerty  waved  a  knowledgable  parasol. 

"I  daresay."  It  was  the  air  of  a  very  "substan- 
tial" man  indeed.  "The  year  after  next  I  expect  to 
be  mayor.  And  then" — a  note  of  triumph  crept  into 
his  voice — "we  may  be  able  to  show  some  of  'em  a 
thing  or  two." 

Miss  Preston  was  diplomatically  quite  sure  of  that. 
And  yet  as  she  stood  with  the  crude  bulk  of  Strath- 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

fieldsaye  behind  her,  she  looked  somehow  a  little  du- 
bious. It  was  as  if,  respect  this  brother-in-law  of  hers 
as  she  might,  she  had  certain  mental  reservations  in 
regard  to  him. 

He  was  too  busy  with  his  own  thoughts  to  detect 
what  was  passing  in  her  mind;  besides  the  curves  of 
his  own  mind  were  too  large  for  him  to  care  very 
much  even  had  he  done  so. 

"You've  got  to  come  to  the  show,  Gert,"  he  said 
abruptly.  "To-morrow  week — don't  forget." 

Gerty  began  to  hedge  a  bit,  but  he  would  take  no 
denial.  It  was  her  duty  "to  bring  Maria  up  to  the 
scratch." 

There  was  no  way  out,  it  seemed,  so  finally  she 
must  make  up  her  mind  to  yield  and  to  suffer.  It 
would  be  a  horrible  affair — common  people,  brass 
band,  a  general  atmosphere  of  vulgarity  and  alcohol; 
it  would  be  all  that  her  prim  soul  abhorred.  And  the 
heat  would  be  terrific.  Her  spirit  quailed,  but  how 
could  the  miserable  Maria  hope  to  get  through  with- 
out her  to  lean  upon !  Besides  if  she  showed  the  white 
feather  Josiah  might  lose  some  of  his  respect  for  her. 
And  she  couldn't  afford  that,  especially  after  it  had 
cost  her  so  much  for  him  to  gain  it. 

"She  must  get  into  the  habit  of  showing  herself  to 
the  public  as  she's  going  to  be  mayoress." 

Miss  Preston  quite  saw  that.  She  yielded  with  as 
much  grace  as  she  could  muster.  Josiah  took  her  down 
to  the  gate  and  told  her  to  mind  the  paint.  And  then 

42 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

as  she  was  about  to  pass  through,  her  gloved  hand 
was  laid  upon  his  arm,  almost  exactly  as  Lawyer  Mos- 
sop's  had  been,  and  she  said  softly  and  gravely  in  a 
voice  curiously  similar,  "Josiah,  if  I  were  you,  I  should 
not  be  in  a  hurry  about  .  .  .  about  Sally." 

The  grimness  of  the  eyes  that  met  hers  would  have 
scared  most  women,  but  Gertrude  Preston  was  not 
one  to  be  frightened  easily.  There  was  hesitancy,  a 
slight  nervousness,  all  the  same. 

Josiah  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  said  slowly, 
"that  gel  is  coming'  out  o'  my  will." 

The  look  of  him  as  he  stood  there  with  the  sun's 
shadow  falling  across  his  heavy  face  told  her  that 
argument  would  be  worse  than  useless.  Rather 
abruptly  she  said  good-night  and  marched  primly 
away  along  the  road. 


VIII 

THE  annual  Flower  Show  and  Gala  in  Jubilee 
Park  was  in  part  a  serious  function,  in  part  a 
popular  festival.  But  its  secondary  aspect  was  un- 
doubtedly predominant. 

Jubilee  Park  was  sacred  to  those  who  thronged  the 
close-packed  southern  and  eastern  areas  of  the  city. 
Among  many  other  things,  held  by  the  people  of 
Blackhampton  to  be  vastly  more  important,  the  town 
and  its  suburbs  had  a  reputation  for  flowers.  It  was 
odd  that  it  should  have.  Except  perhaps  a  subtle 
quality  in  the  soil,  there  was  little  in  its  corporate  life 
or  in  its  physical  expression  to  account  for  the  fact 
that  it  had  long  been  famous  for  its  roses.  Among 
the  hundreds  of  allotment  holders  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  city,  practical  rose-growers  abounded  and  these 
claimed  an  apotheosis  at  the  annual  show  in  Jubilee 
Park. 

Almost  the  only  vanity  Mr.  Josiah  Munt  had  per- 
mitted himself  in  his  earlier  days  was  that  he  was  a 
practical  rose-grower.  He  had  competed  at  the  show 
ever  since  there  had  been  a  show,  and  he  had  gar- 
nered so  many  prizes  in  the  process  that  he  now  took 
rank  as  an  expert.  But  he  was  more  than  that.  He 
was  now  regarded  as  chief  patron  of  a  cult  that  was 

44 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

largely  confined  to  the  humbler  and  the  poorer  classes. 
A  hard  man,  known  throughout  the  city  as  very  "near" 
in  his  business  dealings,  he  was  a  despiser  of  public 
opinion  and  no  seeker  of  popular  applause.  But  of 
late  years,  having  grown  remarkably  prosperous  and 
a  figure  of  ever-increasing  consequence  in  the  town, 
he  made  a  practice  just  once  in  the  year  of  "letting 
himself  out  a  bit"  at  the  function  in  Jubilee  Park. 

For  one  thing  the  Park  itself  was  almost  within  a 
stone's  throw  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington;  and  in  Jo- 
siah's  opinion  its  sole  merit  was  its  contiguity  to  that 
famous  public  house.  Personally  he  despised  Jubilee 
Park  and  the  class  of  persons  who  frequented  it — 
they  were  a  common  lot — but  now  he  had  taken  rank 
as  the  great  man  of  this  particular  neighborhood, 
wherein  he  had  been  born  and  had  sown  the  seeds  of 
his  fortune,  it  did  him  no  harm  in  his  own  esteem 
or  in  that  of  the  people  who  had  known  him  in  hum- 
bler days,  once  a  year  to  savor  his  preeminence. 

Tuesday,  August  the  Fourth,  was  one  of  the  hottest 
days  within  the  memory  of  Blackhampton.  And  in 
that  low-lying,  over-populated  area  of  which  Jubilee 
Park  was  the  center  it  seemed  hotter  than  anywhere 
else.  Being  the  day  after  Bank  Holiday,  a  large  sec- 
tion of  the  community  "had  taken  another  day  off," 
therefore  several  thousand  persons  of  all  ages  and 
both  sexes  assembled  on  the  brown  bare  grass  in  the 
course  of  the  afternoon. 

To  say  that  the  bulk  of  these  had  been  attracted 

45 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

to  those  shadeless  precincts  by  a  display  of  roses 
would  be  too  polite  a  compliment.  The  Blackhampton 
Prize  Brass  Band  was  the  undoubted  magnet  of  the 
many.  Then  there  were  tea  al  fresco  for  the  ladies, 
a  baby  show  and  a  beauty  competition,  beer  and  bowls 
for  the  gentlemen,  dancing  to  follow  and  also  fire- 
works. When  the  Show  was  considered  in  all  its  as- 
pects, the  roses  only  appealed  to  a  small  minority ;  the 
roses  in  fact  were  hardly  more  than  a  pretext  for 
a  local  saturnalia,  but  in  the  middle  of  the  sward  was 
a  large  tent  wherein  the  competing  blooms  were  dis- 
played Close  by  was  a  tent  considerably  less  in  size 
if  intrinsically  the  more  imposing,  to  which  a  square 
piece  of  cardboard  was  attached  by  a  blue  ribbon.  It 
bore  the  legend  "President  and  Committee." 

At  the  entrance  to  this  smaller  tent  a  number  of 
important  looking  but  perspiring  gentlemen  were  seat- 
ed in  a  semicircle  on  garden  chairs.  And  in  the  cen- 
ter of  these,  with  rather  the  air  of  Jupiter  among  his 
satellites,  was  Mr.  Josiah  Munt.  Several  members 
of  the  committee,  all  badged  and  resetted  as  they  were, 
had  removed  their  coats  out  of  deference  to  the  ther- 
mometer, but  the  President  was  not  of  these.  Un- 
der the  famous  white  pot  hat,  which  in  the  south- 
eastern district  of  his  native  city  was  as  famous  as 
the  Gladstone  collar  and  the  Chamberlain  eyeglass, 
was  artfully  disposed  a  cool  cabbage  leaf,  and  over 
all  was  a  large  white  sun  umbrella. 

The  sun  umbrella  marked  a  precedent.  It  was  a 

46 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

symbol,  a  herald  of  the  President's  ever  advancing  so- 
cial status.  All  the  same  it  was  not  allowed  to  mar  a 
certain  large  geniality  with  which  he  always  bore  him- 
self at  the  Rose  Show.  By  nature  the  proprietor  of 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  was  not  an  expansive  man, 
particularly  in  the  world  of  affairs,  but  once  a  year, 
at  least,  he  made  a  point  of  unbending  as  far  as  it 
was  in  him  to  do  so. 

This  afternoon  the  President  was  accessible  to  all 
and  sundry  as  of  yore.  Moreover  he  had  followed 
his  time-honored  custom  of  regaling  the  committee, 
most  of  whom  were  "substantial  men"  and  the  cronies 
of  an  earlier,  more  primitive  phase  in  the  ascending 
fortunes  of  the  future  mayor  of  the  city,  with  whisky 
and  cigars,  conveyed  specially  from  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington by  George  the  head  barman.  But  it  was  clear 
as  the  afternoon  advanced  and  the  heat  increased  with 
the  evergrowing  throng,  that  the  subject  of  roses  and 
even  the  martial  strains  of  Rule  Britannia,  Hearts  of 
Oak  and  other  accepted  masterpieces  rendered  with 
amazing  brio  by  the  B.P.B.B.  did  not  wholly  occupy 
the  thoughts  of  these  distinguished  men. 

Among  the  Olympians  who  sat  in  the  magic  semi- 
circle at  the  mouth  of  their  own  private  tent  and  en- 
joyed the  President's  whisky  and  cigars  and  the  privi- 
lege of  personal  intercourse  with  him  was  a  foxy-look- 
ing man  with  large  ears  and  large  spectacles.  Julius 
Weiss  by  name,  he  had  migrated  from  his  native  Ger- 
many thirty  years  before,  and  by  specializing  in  what 

47 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

was  technically  known  as  "a  threepenny  hair-cut"  had 
risen  to  the  position  of  a  master  hair-dresser  with  six 
shops  of  his  own  in  the  city.  A  man  of  keen  intelli- 
gence and  cosmopolitan  outlook,  there  were  times  in 
the  course  of  the  afternoon  when  he  seemed  to  claim 
more  of  the  President's  attention  than  the  ostensible 
business  in  hand. 

"No,  I  don't  trust  our  gov'ment,"  said  Josiah  for 
the  tenth  time,  when  a  cornet  solo,  the  Battle  of 
Prague  ("Bandsman  Rosher")  had  been  brought  to  a 
triumphant  close.  "Never  have  trusted  'em  if  it  comes 
to  that." 

"That's  because  you're  a  blooming  Tory,"  ventured 
the  only  hungry  looking  member  of  an  extremely  well- 
nourished  looking  committee — an  obvious  intellectual 
with  piercing  black  eyes  and  fiercely  picturesque  mus- 
tache whose  hue  was  as  the  raven. 

"Politics  is  barred,  Lewis!"  It  was  the  President's 
Saturday  morning  manner  at  the  City  Hall,  but  its 
austerity  was  tactfully  mitigated  by  a  dexterous  pass- 
ing of  the  cigar  box.  "We  ought  to  go  in  now  .  .  . 
this  minute.  What  do  you  say,  Weiss?" 

The  master  hair-dresser  screwed  up  a  pair  of  vulpine 
eyes  and  then  replied  in  a  low  harsh  guttural,  "It  is 
a  big  t'ing  to  fight  Chermany." 

"We  are  not  afraid  of  you,"  interjected  a  pugna- 
cious Committee-man.  "Don't  you  think  that." 

The  President  held  up  a  stern  finger.  "No,  no, 
Jennings."  It  was  a  breach  of  taste  and  the  Presi- 

48 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

dent  glared  at  the  offender  from  under  his  cabbage 
leaf.  He  had  a  deep  instinct  for  fair  play,  a  curious 
impartiality  that  enabled  him  to  see  the  merits  of 
Weiss  as  a  taxpayer  and  a  citizen.  In  the  lump  he 
approved  of  Germans  as  little  as  any  one  else,  but 
such  a  man  as  Weiss  with  his  unceasing  industry,  his 
organizing  capacity,  his  business  ability  and  his  social 
qualities  was  a  real  asset  to  the  city. 

The  little  hair-dresser  broke  a  solemn  pause.  "We 
are  not  ready  for  war."  He  stressed  the  "we"  to  the 
plain  annoyance  of  several  committee-men,  although 
Josiah  was  not  of  the  number.  "A  month  from  now 
they'll  be  in  Paris." 

"I  don't  think,"  said  the  truculent  Jennings. 

"You'll  see,  my  tear,"  said  Julius  Weiss. 


IX 


AT  five  o'clock  Maria  and  Aunt  Gerty  arrived  on 
the  scene.  Blackhampton's  future  mayoress  had 
been  taken  very  firmly  in  hand  by  her  step-sister  who 
was  fully  determined  that  the  social  credit  of  Alder- 
man Munt  should  not  be  lowered  in  the  sight  of  the 
world.  Gerty  had  really  taken  enormous  pains  with 
a  naturally  timid  and  weakly  constituted  member  of 
society. 

After  a  battle  royal,  in  which  tears  had  been  shed, 
the  hapless  Maria  had  been  compelled  to  renounce  a 
pair  of  old-fashioned  stays  which  on  common  occa- 
sions foreshortened  her  figure  to  the  verge  of  the  gro- 
tesque, in  favor  of  sinuous,  long-lined,  straight-front- 
ed corsets.  With  such  ruthless  art  had  outlying  and 
overlapping  portions  of  Maria  been  folded  away  with- 
in their  fashionable  confines,  that,  as  she  breathlessly 
remarked  to  her  torturer  as  she  looked  in  the  glass, 
"She  didn't  know  herself,  she  didn't  really." 

Maria  could  hardly  breathe  as  she  waddled  across 
the  parched  expanse  of  Jubilee  Park.  She  was  more 
miserably  self-conscious  than  she  had  ever  been  in 
the  whole  course  of  a  miserably  self-conscious  exist- 
ence. Her  corsets,  she  was  sure,  filled  the  world's 
eye.  At  her  time  of  life  to  take  such  liberties  with 

50 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

the  human  form  was  hardly  decent,  it  wasn't  really. 
Moreover  Gerty  had  perched  a  great  hat  on  the  top 
of  her,  almost  a  flower  show  in  itself,  the  sort  that 
was  worn,  Gerty  assured  her,  by  the  local  duchess  on 
public  occasions;  and  it  was  kept  in  place  on  a  mi- 
raculous new  fangled  coiffure  by  a  white  veil  with 
black  spots.  Then  her  comfortable  elastic-sided  boots, 
the  stand-bys  of  a  fairly  long  and  very  honorable  life, 
had  gone  by  the  board  at  the  instance  of  the  ruthless 
Gerty.  She  had  to  submit  to  patent  leathered,  buck- 
led affairs,  that  could  only  be  coaxed  on  to  the  human 
foot  by  a  shoehorn.  No  wonder  that  Mrs.  Alderman 
Munt  walked  with  great  delicacy  across  the  baking  ex- 
panse of  Jubilee  Park.  And  the  intensely  respectable 
black  kid  gloves  that  for  more  than  half  a  century  had 
served  her  so  well  for  chapel  goings,  prayer  meetings, 
weddings,  funerals,  christenings  and  the  concerts  of 
the  Philharmonic  Society  had  been  forced  to  yield  to 
a  pair  whose  virgin  whiteness  in  Maria's  opinion  car- 
ried fashion  to  the  verge  of  immodesty.  Nor  did  even 
these  complete  the  catalogue  of  Gerty 's  encroachments. 
There  was  also  a  long-handled  black  and  white  para- 
sol. 

As  Maria  and  Gerty  debouched  across  the  grass, 
Josiah  arose  from  his  chair  in  the  midst  of  the  com- 
mittee and  strutted  impressively  past  the  bandstand 
to  receive  them. 

"Why,  Mother,  I  hardly  knew  you."  There  was 
high  approval  in  the  greeting.  "Up  to  the  knocker, 

51 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

what!"  He  offered  a  cordial  hand  to  his  heroically 
beaming  sister-in-law,  "How  are  you,  Gert?" 

The  ladies  had  been  careful  to  have  tea  before  the^» 
came  but  this  precaution  did  not  avail.  Josiah  insisted 
on  their  going  into  the  special  tent  labeled  "Refresh- 
ments." Here  they  had  to  sit  on  a  form  rickety  and 
uncomfortably  narrow  which  promised  at  any  mo- 
ment either  to  lay  them  prone  beneath  the  tea  urn 
or  enable  them  to  form  a  parabola  over  against  the 
patent  bread-cutter  at  the  other  end  of  the  table. 

The  tea  was  lukewarm  and  undrinkable,  the  bread 
and  butter  was  thick  and  so  uninviting  that  both  la- 
dies were  sure  it  was  margarine,  but  after  a  moment's 
hesitation  in  which  she  felt  the  stern  eye  of  Josiah 
upon  her,  the  heroic  Gerty  dexterously  removed  one 
white  glove  and  came  to  grips  with  a  plate  of  buttered 
buns.  In  the  buns  were  undeniable  currants,  and 
their  genial  presence  enabled  Gerty  to  make  a  spir- 
ited bluff  at  consuming  them. 

Where  Gerty  walked,  Maria  must  not  fear  to  tread. 
The  ladies  got  somehow  through  their  second  tea  and 
then  they  were  haled  into  the  open,  past  the  band- 
stand and  through  the  crowd  surrounding  it,  to  the 
large  tent  containing  the  exhibits.  Here,  in  a  select 
corner,  draped  with  festoons  of  red  cloth,  were  the 
prizes  which  Maria,  half  an  hour  hence,  would  be 
called  upon  to  distribute  with  her  own  white-gloved 
hands  to  the  victorious  competitors. 

The  heat  in  the  tent  being  unbearable  the  Presi- 

52 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

dent's  party  had  it  to  themselves.  Therefore  Maria's 
audible  groan  at  the  sight  of  the  task  before  her  was 
heard  by  none  save  her  lord. 

"Bear  up,  Mother,"  Josiah's  tone  was  a  highly  ju- 
dicious blend  of  sternness,  banter  and  persuasion.  "It's 
not  as  if  you  had  to  make  a  speech,  you  know.  And 
if  you  did  have  there's  nobody  here  who'd  bite  you. 
I'd  see  to  that." 

This  was  encouraging,  yet  certain  gyrations  of  the 
black  and  white  parasol  betrayed  to  the  lynx-eyed 
Gerty  the  sinister  presence  of  stage  fright.  "Maria," 
said  the  inexorable  monitress,  "you  must  show  Spirit. 
Hold  your  sunshade  as  I've  shown  you.  Keep  your 
chin  up.  And  try  to  smile." 

This  counsel  of  perfection  was,  at  the  moment, 
clearly  beyond  Maria.  But  the  President's  nod  ap- 
proved it,  and  Gerty,  one  of  those  powerful  spirits 
that  loves  to  do  with  public  affairs,  proceeded  on  a 
flute-like  note,  "Dear  me,  what  lovely  prizes!" 

It  was  hyperbole  to  speak  of  the  prizes  as  lovely, 
but  it  was,  of  course,  the  correct  thing  to  say,  and  in 
the  ear  of  Josiah  the  correct  thing  was  said  in  the 
correct  way.  It  would  have  been  difficult  for  the 
duchess  herself  to  have  bettered  that  pure  note  of 
lofty  enthusiasm. 

"Not  so  bad,  Gert,  are  they?  What  do  you  think 
o'  that  little  vawse?  Presented  by  Coppin,  the  jew- 
eler." 

To  assess  the  gift  of  Coppin,  the  jeweler,  it  was 

53 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

necessary  for  Miss  Preston  to  bring  into  action  her 
famous  tortoiseshell  folders.  She  had  no  need  for 
glasses  at  all.  But  Lawyer  Mossop's  aunt,  the  late 
Miss  Selina  Gregg,  had  aroused  in  her  a  passion  for 
their  use  on  appropriate  occasions.  "A  ducky  little 
vahse!"  That  vexed  word  was  pronounced  after  the 
manner  of  the  late  Miss  Gregg,  from  whose  practice 
there  was  no  appeal. 

"Not  so  bad — for  Coppin.  Better  anyway  than  his 
silver-plated  eggstand  last  year." 

Gerty  made  an  admiring  survey  of  the  bounty  of 
the  patrons  of  the  Blackhampton  Rose  Growers'  As- 
sociation. "And  here,  I  see,  is  the  President's  special 
prize."  She  had  kept  in  reserve  her  appreciation  of 
this  chef  d'ceuvre  of  public  munificence,  a  much  be- 
ribboned  silver  gilt  goblet  to  which  a  card  was  at- 
tached, "President's  Special  Prize  for  Rose  of  Purest 
Color.  Donor  Alderman  Munt  J.P."  It  was  the  first 
thing  her  eye  had  lit  on,  but  she  had  worked  up  to  it 
slowly,  via  the  lesser  gifts  of  lesser  men,  so  that 
anything  in  the  nature  of  anticlimax  might  be  avoided. 

"Josiah,  tell  me,  who  is  the  fortunate  winner?"  The 
archness  of  the  tone  verged  upon  coquetry. 

"Look  and  see,  my  gel."  The  response  was  unex- 
pectedly gruff.  But,  as  soon  as  Gerty  had  looked 
and  seen,  the  reason  for  the  President's  austerity  grew 
clear.  On  a  second  card,  smaller  but  beribboned  like 
the  first,  was  inscribed  in  a  fair  clerkly  hand,  "Pre- 
sented to  Mr.  W.  Hollis  for  Exhibit  16." 


HAD  a  pin  fallen  in  the  tent  at  that  moment,  any 
one  of  those  three  people  might  have  expected 
to  hear  it  do  so.  Gerty  was  too  wise  to  ask  why  the 
husband  of  the  outcast  Melia  had  come  to  enjoy  the 
special  gift  of  his  father-in-law;  Maria  simply  dare 
not.  In  truth  it  was  an  odd  story.  Josiah  did  his 
best  to  put  a  gloss  on  an  incredible  fact  of  which  he 
was  rather  ashamed;  it  looked  so  much  like  moral 
weakness,  a  public  giving  in;  but,  as  he  informed 
Gerty  with  a  half  apologetic  air,  Jannock  was  Jan- 
nock.  In  other  words,  fair  play  in  the  eyes  of  honest 
men  was  a  jewel. 

There  could  be  no  question  that,  in  point  of  color, 
the  fairest  bloom  sent  in  was  Exhibit  Sixteen.  It 
was  a  rose  of  such  a  dazzling  snowy  whiteness  that 
it  had  caught  and  held  the  expert  eye  of  the  Presi- 
dent at  the  morning  inspection.  "An  easy  winner, 
Jennings,"  he  had  said,  as  soon  as  he  had  seen  it, 
"Nothing  to  put  beside  it,  my  boy." 

The  astute  Jennings,  a  professional  nurseryman 
along  The  Rise,  made  no  comment.  He  had  taken 
the  trouble  to  find  out  the  name  of  the  grower  before 
bringing  a  mature  judgment  to  bear  on  the  fruits  of 
his  craft.  "Sound"  criticism  is  always  a  priori.  Crit- 

55 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

ics  who  value  their  reputation  are  careful  not  to  pro- 
nounce an  opinion  on  any  work  of  art  until  they  know 
who  has  produced  it.  Otherwise  mistakes  are  apt 
to  occur.  None  knew  better  than  Jennings  that  the 
grower  of  Exhibit  Sixteen  could  not  hope  to  receive 
the  President's  prize;  indeed  Jennings  was  amazed  at 
the  little  tick's  impudence  in  daring  to  compete  at  all 
for  his  father-in-law's  silver  gilt  goblet.  It  was  an 
act  of  bravado.  Jennings,  therefore,  shook  his  head 
coldly.  He  declined  to  show  enthusiasm  in  the  pres- 
ence of  what  to  the  unsuspecting  eye  of  the  President 
was  an  almost  too  obvious  masterpiece. 

"All  over  a  winner,  Jennings,  that  is." 

Jennings  shook  the  sober  head  of  a  professional  ex- 
pert. "To  me,"  he  said,  "Twenty-one  'as  more  qual- 
ity." 

"Rubbish,  man!"  The  President  threw  up  his  head 
sharply,  a  favorite  trick  when  goaded  by  contradic- 
tion. "Twenty-one  can't  be  mentioned  on  the  same 
day  o'  the  week.  What  do  you  say,  Penney  ?" 

Before  Mr.  Councilor  Penney,  an  acknowledged 
light  of  the  a  priori  school  of  criticism,  ventured  to 
express  an  opinion  he  winged  a  glance  at  Nurseryman 
Jennings.  And  that  glance,  in  the  technical  language 
of  experts,  conveyed  a  clear  request  for  "the  office." 

"The  office"  was  given  sotto  voce  behind  the  adroit 
hand  of  Jennings,  "Mester  Munt — Twenty-one,  Six- 
teen—Bill Hollis." 

Thereupon  Mr.  Councilor  Penney  closed  one  eye 

56 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

and  proceeded  to  examine  the  competing  blooms. 
"Well,  Mester  Munt,"  he  said  solemnly,  "I  am  bound 
to  say,  to  my  mind  Twenty-one  'as  it." 

The  impetuous  president  had  a  short  way  with  the 
Councilor  Penneys  of  the  earth.  "Have  you  no  eyes, 
man !  Twenty-one  can't  live  beside  Sixteen.  Not  the 
same  class.  Look  at  the  color — look  at  the  shape — 
look  at  the  size " 

It  was  realized  now  that  it  had  become  necessary 
to  warn  the  President.  And  the  situation  must  be 
grappled  with  at  once.  The  deeper  the  President 
floundered,  the  more  perilous  the  job  of  extrication. 
Rescue  was  a  man's  work,  but  finally  in  response  to 
a  mute  appeal  from  the  pusillanimous  Jennings,  Mr. 
Councilor  Penney  took  his  courage  in  his  hands.  "Mr. 
Munt,"  he  said  warily,  "don't  you  know  that  Twenty- 
one  was  sent  in  by  Joe  Mellers,  your  own  gardener?" 

It  was  the  best  that  Mr.  Councilor  Penney  could 
muster  in  the  way  of  tact.  But  at  all  times  a  very 
great  deal  of  tact  was  needed  to  handle  the  Presi- 
dent. Clearly  the  shot  was  not  a  lucky  one.  "Nowt 
to  do  with  it,  Penney."  The  great  man  nearly  bit 
off  his  head.  "Ought  to  know  that.  Sixteen's  the 
best  bloom  on  the  bench." 

"Sixteen's  that  Hollis!"  It  was  an  act  of  pure 
valor  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Councilor  Penney.  Nur- 
seryman Jennings  held  his  breath. 

"That  Hollis !"  The  President  repeated  the  words 
calmly.  For  a  moment  it  was  not  certain  that  human 

57 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

dignity  could  accept  their  implication.  But  there  was 
a  world  of  meaning  in  the  nervous  frown  of  Mr.  Coun- 
cilor Penney,  in  the  tense  furtiveness  of  Nurseryman 
Jennings. 

Was  it  possible  ?  .  .  .  Was  it  possible  that  the  little 
skunk  had  dared?  .  .  .  Had  dared  to  compete  at  this 
show  of  all  shows?  .  .  .  Had  dared  to  win  honestly 
that  prize  of  all  prizes?  .  .  . 

The  story  of  Bill  Hollis  and  Melia  Munt  was  a 
commonplace  with  every  member  of  the  Committee. 
They  were  familiar  with  all  the  circumstances;  and 
though  there  might  be  those  among  them  who  felt  pri- 
vately that  their  august  President  carried  family  pride 
rather  far,  even  these  could  not  help  admiring  the 
rigidity  of  his  attitude.  It  meant  enormous  strength 
of  character;  and  character  in  the  shrine  at  which  the 
true  Briton  worships.  But  now  that  the  Committee 
was  up  against  the  problem  Bill  Hollis  had  raised  they 
keenly  regretted  that  they  had  not  taken  steps  to  dis- 
qualify him  from  the  outset,  or  had  not  apprised  the 
President  beforehand  of  the  state  of  the  case. 

The  pause  that  followed  was  rather  irksome  for  all 
parties.  It  was  ended  at  last  by  Nurseryman  Jen- 
nings. That  practical  expert,  having  enjoyed  an  af- 
ternoon of  free  whisky  at  the  President's  expense, 
was  now  able  to  clothe  his  judgment  becomingly. 
"Don't  suppose  the  little  Snot  grew  it  hisself!"  said 
Jennings. 

Half  the  Committee  saw  at  once  that  a  way  out  had 

58 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

been  found  for  the  President.  But  the  President  was 
not  of  the  number.  "Why  don't  you  ?"  he  said  curtly. 

The  practical  expert  was  hardly  prepared  with  rea- 
sons. Why  should  he  be?  His  doubts  were  inspired 
by  the  purest  altruism.  "Why  don't  you,  Jennings  ?" 
repeated  the  President. 

Really  there  is  no  helping  some  people ! 

"Because  I  don't!"  It  was  rather  lame,  but  Jen- 
nings was  doing  his  best  in  extremely  trying  circum- 
stances. 

The  longer,  tenser  pause  that  followed  none  w#s 
stout  enough  to  break.  Up  to  a  hundred  might  have 
been  counted  before  the  President  said,  slowly  and 
gruffly,  as  a  large  and  shaggy  bear  endowed  with  a 
few  limited  human  vocables  might  have  done,  "Have 
the  goodness,  Jennings,  to  mark  Exhibit  Sixteen  for 
the  President's  Special." 


XI 


THUS  it  was,  that  among  the  successful  competi- 
tors  who  lined   up   by   the  bandstand   at   six 
o'clock  to  receive  awards  of  merit  from  the  fair  hands 
of  Mrs.  Alderman  Munt,  was  her  son-in-law  Mr. 
William  Hollis. 

Wonders  never  cease  to  happen  in  a  world  of  won- 
ders. When  in  a  moment  of  sheer  bravado  Bill  Hollis 
had  paid  the  necessary  shilling  and  had  entered  the 
choicest  bloom  in  his  garden  for  the  Annual  Show  he 
would  have  staked  his  davy  that  he  stood  about  as 
much  chance  of  walking  off  with  the  Special  Prize  as 
he  did  of  going  to  heaven  in  a  golden  chariot.  The 
Old  Un  himself  would  see  to  that. 

Taken  on  its  merits,  this  pure  white  rose  that  had 
come  as  the  crown  of  many  years  of  loving  labor 
would  be  hard  to  beat.  But,  as  Bill  Hollis  knew, 
things  are  not  taken  on  their  merits  by  the  a  priori 
school  of  criticism.  He  knew  that  its  judgments  are 
conditioned  by  many  things  and  that  intrinsic  worth 
is  apt  to  weigh  least  in  the  scale.  He  had  shown  his 
bloom  in  pride  and  defiance;  he  had  not  expected  to 
get  anything  by  it;  and  now  that  the  despised  Com- 
mittee had  acted  better  than  itself  he  was  inclined  to 
regret  that  it  had  not  lived  up  to  its  reputation. 

60 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

The  table  containing  the  prizes  had  been  carried  out 
on  to  the  grass.  Beside  it  stood  Mrs.  Alderman 
Munt,  white-gloved  and  anxious,  her  eyes  not  unlike 
those  of  a  frightened  rabbit.  And  yet  lurking  some- 
where in  the  folds  of  a  rather  redundant  frame  was 
a  certain  dignity,  as  there  is  bound  to  be  in  one  who 
has  given  four  children  to  the  state ;  in  one,  moreover, 
who  has  accompanied  such  a  mate  as  Josiah  step  by 
step  in  his  steady  rise  to  wealth  and  power.  Beside 
Mrs.  Munt  stood  the  secretary  of  the  society,  an  im- 
portant pince-nezed  gentleman,  with  a  scroll  in  his 
hand  bearing  the  names  of  the  prize  winners ;  immedi- 
ately behind  these,  on  a  row  of  chairs,  were  various 
notabilities,  among  whom  Alderman  Munt  was  con- 
spicuously foremost;  and  then  facing  them,  in  a  cu- 
rious, rather  impressed  semicircle,  were  the  members 
of  that  general  public  which  not  for  worlds  would 
miss  anything  in  the  nature  of  a  giving  of  prizes  by 
the  wife  of  a  real  live  alderman. 

The  proprietor  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  sat  glar- 
ing fiercely  from  under  his  white  billycock  hat,  clutch- 
ing a  little  convulsively  the  knob  of  his  sun  um- 
brella. A  ruthless  eye  raked  the  distant  corps  of  suc- 
cessful competitors,  as  one  by  one  they  came  round 
the  corner  of  tfte  bandstand  and  converged  upon  the 
timid  lady  whose  task  it  was  publicly  to  reward  their 
skill.  All  were  awkward,  some  were  abashed,  some 
tried  to  hide  their  feelings  by  an  ill-timed  facetious- 
ness. 

61 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

There  he  was,  the  little  dog!  Josiah's  grip  tight- 
ened on  the  knob  of  the  sun  umbrella.  If  the  little 
cur  had  "had  a  drop/'  as  he  most  probably  had,  he 
was  very  likely  to  insult  Maria — it  was  such  a  great, 
such  a  golden,  opportunity.  Josiah  was  not  troubled 
as  a  rule  by  vain  regrets,  but  as  the  Secretary  in  his 
far  flung  voice  announced,  "President's  Special  Prize 
for  best  Single  Bloom,  winner  Mr.  W.  Hollis,"  and 
there  came  an  expectant  hush  in  which  the  meager 
form  of  Mr.  W.  Hollis  emerged  into  the  full  glare  of 
the  public  gaze,  his  father-in-law  would  have  paid  a 
substantial  sum  to  be  able  to  rescind  his  recent  ver- 
dict. The  little  Stoat  could  not  be  expected  to  bear 
himself  like  a  gentleman. 

Aunt  Gerty,  standing  prim  and.  tense  at  the  back  of 
the  invertebrate  Maria,  grew  as  white  as  if  she  had 
seen  a  ghost.  But  she  drew  in  her  thin  lips  sternly 
and,  great  warrior  as  she  was,  literally  transfixed  poor 
Melia's  declasse  husband  with  her  tortoiseshell  fold- 
ers. How  common  he  was !  It  was  really  very  stupid 
of  Josiah  to  let  him  have  a  prize  in  such  circumstances. 
It  was  very  stupid,  indeed !  He  was  just  the  kind  of 
man  who  might  be  tempted  to  indulge  in  some  form 
t  f  cheap  revenge. 

As  Melia's  husband  shuffled  across  the  grass  Josiah 
I  eld  himself  ready  to  spring  upon  him.  Public  or  no 
public  he  would  certainly  do  so  if  the  little  beast  made 
any  sign  of  insulting  Maria.  But  as  Bill  Hollis  came 
slowly  and  doggedly  into  the  picture  he  was  visited 

62 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

by  a  reluctant  grace.  Half  way  across  the  grass, 
midway  between  the  bandstand  and  the  alderman's 
lady,  he  took  his  shabby  hands  from  his  shabby  pock- 
ets; a  little  farther  on  several  degrees  of  slouch  passed 
from  the  unpleasing  curve  of  his  narrow  shoulders. 
And  finally,  as  the  silver  gilt  goblet  was  bestowed  upon 
him  by  a  pair  of  trembling  hands,  he  ducked  solemnly, 
the  best  he  could  do  in  the  way  of  a  bow,  and  then 
retired  modestly,  silently,  respectfully,  the  trophy  un- 
der his  arm. 

Josiah  and  Aunt  Gerty  breathed  again.  Great  was 
their  relief.  And  so  intensely  had  they  been  preoccu- 
pied with  the  bearing  of  Melia's  husband,  that,  very 
luckily  for  Maria,  they  were  not  able  to  notice  hers. 
It  was  well  this  was  so.  For  the  alderman's  lady 
had  disgraced  herself  on  an  important  public  occasion 
by  allowing  her  eyes  to  fill  with  tears. 


XII 


BILL'S  first  thought  was  to  take  the  trophy 
straight  home  to  his  wife.  But  for  various  rea- 
sons he  didn't  obey  it.  Relations  had  grown  very 
strained  between  Melia  and  himself.  For  months  past 
she  had  been  giving  him  such  a  bad  time  that  there 
was  little  pleasure  to  be  got  out  of  his  home. 

He  was  a  bit  of  an  idealist  in  his  way.  Sixteen 
years  ago,  at  any  rate,  he  had  begun  married  life  by 
idealizing  his  home  and  Melia.  But  Melia  was  not  an 
idealist  She  was  a  decidedly  practical  person,  and, 
like  her  father,  endowed  with  much  shrewd  sense.  In 
a  perverse  hour  she  had  yielded  against  her  better 
judgment  to  the  quiet  persistency  of  William  Hollis; 
but  almost  before  she  married  him  she  knew  it 
wouldn't  answer.  In  her  heart  she  wanted  somebody 
better.  She  felt  that  a  daughter  of  Josiah  Munt  was 
entitled  to  somebody  better.  And  in  waiving  all  her 
rights  as  the  eldest  child  of  a  tyrannical,  overbearing 
father,  the  least  she  could  ask  of  the  man  to  whose 
star  she  had  pinned  her  faith  was  that  he  should 
prove  himself  a  forcible  and  successful  citizen. 

Unhappily  Bill  had  proved  to  be  neither.  He  was 
a  wordster,  a  dreamer ;  there  was  nothing  at  the  back 
of  his  rose-colored  ideas.  It  was  not  that  he  was  a 

64 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

vicious  man.  For  such  a  nature  as  Melia's  it  had 
perhaps  been  better  if  he  had  been.  She  asked  for 
the  positive  in  man,  even  positive  badness;  anything 
rather  than  muddling  mediocrity,  ignoble  envy  of 
other  men's  prosperity  and  continual  whinings  against 
fate. 

There  were  times  when  Melia  was  so  bored  with  the 
inadequacy  of  this  mate  of  hers  that  she  half  hoped 
to  goad  him  into  getting  drunk  enough  to  repay  some 
of  her  insults  with  a  good  beating.  At  least  it  would 
have  been  an  event,  an  excitement.  But  he  was  not 
even  a  thorough-going  drinker;  at  the  best,  or  the 
worst,  he  never  drank  enough  beer  to  rise  to  the  he- 
roic, as  a  real  man  might  have  done ;  his  deepest  pota- 
tions did  not  carry  him  beyond  maudlin  sentiment  or 
vapid  braggadocio,  both  very  galling  to  a  woman  of 
spirit.  And  now,  having  realized  that  there  was  noth- 
ing to  hope  for,  that  they  were  going  steadily  down  a 
hill  at  the  bottom  of  which  was  the  gutter — just  as 
her  clear-sighted  father  had  predicted  from  the  first 
— years  of  resentment  had  crystallized  into  a  hard  and 
fixed  hostility.  She  had  an  ever-growing  contempt 
for  the  spineless  fool  who  was  dragging  her  down 
in  his  own  ruin. 

Bill's  instinct  was  to  go  home  at  once  with  the  silver 
gilt  goblet.  In  spite  of  all  the  bitterness  the  last  few 
years  had  brought  him  he  still  had  a  wish  to  please 
Melia.  In  spite  of  a  cat  and  dog  existence  they  were 
man  and  wife.  They  had  lived  sixteen  years  together 

65 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

but  he  still  wished  to  propitiate  her.  But  hardly  had 
he  borne  his  prize  through  the  throng  by  the  band- 
stand and  begun  to  steer  for  the  main  gate  of  Jubilee 
Park  than  there  came  a  change  of  mind. 

It  was  one  of  those  sudden,  causeless  changes  of 
mind  that  was  always  overtaking  him.  He  never 
seemed  able  to  do  anything  now  for  the  reason  that 
almost  before  he  had  decided  upon  one  thing  he  was 
overpowered  by  a  desire  to  do  another.  He  had  not 
reached  the  park  gate  before  he  felt  the  humiliation 
of  accepting  such  a  prize  from  such  hands ;  and  Melia 
would  probably  tell  him  that  he  ought  to  have  had 
more  self-respect  than  to  take  it — if  she  thought  it 
worth  while  to  express  herself  on  the  subject. 

The  President's  Special  Prize  would  bring  no  plea- 
sure to  Melia.  True,  there  was  no  need  to  tell  her 
whence  it  came.  No  .  .  .  there  was  no  need!  Sud- 
denly the  band  broke  into  a  hearty  strain.  Beyond  a 
doubt  the  atmosphere  of  Jubilee  Park  was  far  more  ge- 
nial than  that  of  Number  Five  Love  Lane.  Perhaps  he 
ought  to  have  brought  Melia  to  witness  his  triumph. 
One  reason  was  that  he  had  been  far  from  expecting 
it;  another,  that  he  daren't  invite  her.  For  many 
months  now  she  had  been  careful  to  keep  herself  to 
herself,  declining  always  to  be  seen  with  him  in  pub- 
lic. 

There  was  a  vacant  seat  by  the  gate,  out  of  the  sun 
and  within  sound  of  the  gay  music.  This,  after  all, 
was  far  better  than  Number  Five  Love  Lane.  For  a 

66 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

few  brief  moments  "The  Merry  Widow"  (selection) 
made  him  feel  happier.  It  would  have  been  nice  for 
Melia — still  it  couldn't  be  helped.  He  ought  to  have 
refused  the  prize — still  he  had  honestly  won  it.  But 
only  an  oversight  on  the  part  of  the  blinking  Commit- 
tee had  given  it  him;  he  could  read  that  in  Josiah's 
ugly  mug  and  in  the  face  of  that  stuck-up  Gerty  Pres- 
ton— so  it  was  one  in  the  eye  for  them  after  all !  And 
what  price  Ma!  Her  son-in-law  broke  into  a  guffaw 
of  melancholy  laughter.  The  old  barrel-bodied  image 
got  up  like  one  of  the  Toffs !  And  yet  .  .  .  how  her 
hands  trembled!  .  .  .  white  gloves  on  'em  too!  .  .  . 
and  that  was  a  queer  look  she  gave  him.  The  old  girl, 
after  all,  was  the  best  of  a  rotten  bunch. 

"The  Merry  Widow"  crashed  to  an  abrupt  finale, 
and  a  light  went  out  suddenly,  as  it  so  often  did,  in 
the  heart  of  Bill  Hollis.  Again  the  stern  edge  of 
reality  pressed  upon  him  from  every  side,  but  almost 
at  once  it  was  swept  away  by  a  new  excitement.  And 
yet  the  excitement  was  not  so  new  as  it  seemed.  All 
the  afternoon  it  had  been  present,  a  chorus,  a  back- 
ground, thrilling  and  momentous,  to  a  series  of  formal 
proceedings  to  which  it  had  nothing  in  common,  to 
which  it  did  not  bear  the  slightest  relation,  and  yet 
with  a  power  truly  sinister  to  cast  a  pall  over  them. 

A  youth  with  lungs  of  brass  came  through  the  gate 
crying  the  Blackhampton  Evening  Star. 

Terrible  Fighting  in  Belgium!  Awful  German 
Losses!  Great  Speech  by  Sir  Edward  Grey! 

67 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

A  sharp  thrill  ran  through  the  veins  of  Bill  Hollis. 
It  was  one  more  lively  variation  on  a  theme  that  had 
been  kindling  his  senses  at  short  intervals  throughout 
the  afternoon.  War,  a  real  big  war,  was  coming,  had 
come.  Of  course  to  him  personally  it  wouldn't  mat- 
ter, except  that  it  might  make  life  more  interesting. 
Yes,  somehow  it  was  bound  to  do  that.  Whether  it 
would  make  it  interesting  enough  for  a  man  like  him- 
self to  care  to  go  on  living,  that  was  another  question. 

"Here  y'are,  boy." 

The  boy  came  across  the  grass,  handed  Bill  an 
Evening  Star  and  firmly  declined  the  halfpenny  that 
was  offered  him. 

"Penny,  sir." 

A  penny  for  a  Star  was  unheard  of.  Even  the  re- 
sult of  the  Derby,  the  result  of  the  match  with  York- 
shire, the  result  of  the  Cup  Final  itself  could  not  com- 
mand a  penny.  Evidently  this  war,  now  that  it  had 
come  at  last,  was  going  to  be  a  Record. 

Yes,  a  Record.  All  the  same  he  was  not  going  to 
pay  a  penny  for  it.  One  halfpenny  was  the  legal 
price  of  the  Blackhampton  Evening  Star,  and  he  told 
the  boy  "that  if  he  had  any  of  his  sauce  he'd  have 
the  police  of  him." 


XIII 

WILLIAM  HOLLIS,  having  defeated  the  boy, 
turned  his  back  to  the  sun  and  was  assured  by 
the  Blackhampton  Star  that  he  was  living  in  a  great 
moment  of  the  world's  history.  Germany  had,  it 
seemed,  until  twelve  o'clock  that  evening  to  decide 
whether  she  would  take  on  England.  She  had  taken 
on  France,  Russia  and  Belgium  already;  a  few  hours 
hence,  if  she  wasn't  careful,  she  would  have  to  fight 
the  British  Empire. 

Even  to  Bill  Hollis,  dizzied  by  the  sheer  magnitude 
of  the  headlines  of  his  favorite  journal  which  actually 
surpassed  those  of  the  Crippen  trial,  the  sinking  of  the 
Titanic  and  the  late  King  Edward's  visit  to  Black- 
hampton, that  phrase  "the  British  Empire"  was  full  of 
magic.  Lurking  somewhere  in  a  compound  of  half- 
baked  inefficiencies  was  the  vision  of  a  poet,  and  at  this 
moment  it  was  queerly  responsive  to  this  symbol. 

"It's  all  up  with  'em  if  they  take  on  Us."  In  strict 
order  of  priority  that  was  the  first  message  to  flash 
through  the  sentient  being  of  Mr.  William  Hollis  to 
be  duly  recorded  by  the  central  office.  Hard  upon  it 
came  a  second  message.  "They've  got  a  Nerve — them 
Germans." 

In  the  column  for  late  news  were  blurred  fragments 

69 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

of  the  speech  of  the  Foreign  Minister  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  Intellectually  William  Hollis  was  not  con- 
spicuously bright,  but,  as  he  read  the  simple  words, 
the  nature  of  the  terrible  misprision  against  the  hu- 
man race  came  home  to  him  and  he  could  only  gasp. 

He  got  up  presently  and  moved  away  from  the 
band.  As  always  the  band  was  very  nice,  but  for  some 
reason  or  other  he  didn't  want  to  hear  it  just  now. 
For  a  short  time  he  walked  about  on  the  brown  grass, 
the  President's  cup  under  his  arm,  wrapped  in  the 
Evening  Star.  But  he  wasn't  thinking  now  of  the 
President,  of  the  cup,  of  Melia,  of  the  injustice  of 
Fate  to  a  prwate  citizen.  His  thoughts  were  centered 
on  a  Thing  that  made  all  these  other  things,  painfully 
intimate  as  they  were,  of  no  moment  at  all.  These 
were  but  trivial  matters,  and  he  was  now  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  inconceivable,  the  stupendous. 

Coming  back  to  the  throng,  perhaps  for  the  latent 
solace  these  clusters  of  fellow  beings  afforded  him, 
he  saw  from  their  blank  eyes,  their  set  faces,  that  his 
own  terrible  thoughts  were  shared  more  or  less  by 
them  all.  The  boy  had  sold  his  papers  already.  Other 
boys  had  sold  theirs.  The  whole  place  was  alive  with 
fluttering  news  sheets,  gleaming  white  and  spectral 
in  the  sun.  Already  these  people,  these  stout  females 
in  farcical  clothes,  for  the  most  part  trundling  queer 
abortions  on  the  end  of  a  string,  and  these  hard-faced, 
grasping  men  who  were  always  overreaching  one  in 
trade,  were  living  in  a  different  world.  They  were 

70 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

not  thinking  now  of  flowers  and  vegetables,  of  bands 
or  dancing,  although  the  first  couples  of  juniors  had 
just  begun  to  sway  rhythmically  to  the  strains  of 
"Hitchy  Koo."  Something  else  had  come  into  their 
lives. 

Passing  the  tent  sacred  to  the  President  and  Com- 
mittee, it  gave  him  one  more  thrill  to  mark  the  bear- 
ing of  the  grandees.  The  famous  white  hat  no  longer 
adorned  the  head  of  the  President.  The  great  man 
nursed  it  upon  his  fat  loud-checked  knees.  All  the 
reluctant  geniality  a  public  function  had  inspired  had 
passed  from  his  ugly  face.  Yet  in  the  purview  of  his 
son-in-law  it  looked  a  little  less  ugly  at  that  moment 
than  he  ever  remembered  to  have  seen  it.  Those  fierce 
eyes  were  not  occupied  now  with  the  narrow  round  of 
their  own  affairs,  nor  with  a  swelling  vision  of  self- 
importance.  The  world  was  on  fire.  He  was  simply 
a  man  among  his  fellow  men;  and  like  them  he  was 
wondering  what  ought  to  be  done. 

At  seven  o'clock  a  vaguely  excited  but  profoundly 
depressed  William  Hollis  made  his  way  out  of  Jubilee 
Park.  He  turned  down  Short  Hill  in  the  direction  of 
his  home.  But  by  the  time  he  had  reached  the  foot  of 
that  brief  declivity,  and  was  involved  in  an  airless 
maze  of  bricks  and  mortar,  the  thought  of  his  home 
grew  suddenly  intolerable.  He  needed  freedom  and 
space,  he  needed  an  atmosphere  more  congenial.  Melia 
would  not  understand.  Or  if  she  did  understand  she 

71 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

would  be  dumb  and  just  now  he  simply  longed  for  a 
little  human  intercourse. 

At  the  end  of  Love  Lane,  a  mean  and  crooked  little 
street  debouching  from  the  Mulcaster  Road  which 
wound  a  somber  trail  to  the  very  heart  of  the  city,  he 
stood  a  moment  gazing  at  the  dingy  sign  a  few  doors 
up  on  the  left,  W.  Hollis,  Fruiterer.  The  obvious 
course  was  to  go  and  deposit  the  prize  he  had  won  on 
the  dresser  in  the  back  sitting  room,  or  still  better, 
give  it  into  the  personal  care  of  Melia.  But  instead, 
he  wrapped  up  the  trophy  a  little  more  carefully,  re- 
settled it  under  his  arm,  and  then  allowed  himself  to 
drift  slowly  with  the  throng  in  the  direction  of  the 
Market  Place. 

As  was  usual  with  him  now,  his  actions  were  aimless 
and  uncertain.  There  was  no  particular  reason  why 
he  should  be  going  to  the  Market  Place  beyond  the 
fact  that  other  people  seemed  to  be  going  there,  as 
somehow  they  always  did  seem  to  be  going  there  at 
great  moments  in  the  national  life.  The  factories  and 
warehouses  who  happened  to  be  working  that  day  had 
disgorged  their  human  cargoes  and  these  under  the 
stimulus  of  hourly  editions  of  the  Evening  Star  were 
moving  slowly  and  solemnly  towards  the  nodal  point. 

What  the  Market  Place  is  to  the  city  as  a  whole, 
Waterloo  Square  is  to  the  teeming,  close-packed  pop- 
ulation of  its  southeastern  area.  And  at  the  busiest 
corner  of  Waterloo  Square,  at  its  confluence  with  Mul- 
caster Road,  that  main  artery  which  leads  directly  to 

72 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

the  center  of  all  things,  is  the  Duke  of  Wellington  pub- 
lic house.  William  Hollis,  drifting  with  the  tide,  felt 
a  sudden,  uncontrollable  desire  to  "have  one"  at  this 
famous  landmark  of  the  local  life. 

The  Duke  of  Wellington  was  a  "free"  house  and 
Mr.  Josiah  Munt  had  been  able  to  maintain  in  its  in- 
tegrity the  declining  art  of  brewing  Blackhampton  Old 
Ale.  This  had  a  bite  and  a  sting  in  it,  with  which  the 
more  diluted  beverages  of  "tied"  houses  could  not 
compare.  At  the  Duke  of  Wellington  you  paid  for  the 
best  and  you  got  it ;  therefore  it  was  patronized  by  all 
in  the  neighborhood  who  knew  what  was  what ;  it  had, 
moreover,  peculiar  advantages  of  tradition  and  geog- 
raphy which  gave  it  a  cachet  of  its  own. 

"To  have  one"  at  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  in  the 
eyes  of  those  who  lived  near  by,  was  almost  on  a  par 
with  "looking  in"  at  Brooks's  or  the  Carl  ton.  It  con- 
ferred a  kind  of  diploma  of  local  worth  and  respon- 
sibility. At  the  same  time  no  form  of  politics  was 
barred,  but  the  proprietor  himself  was  a  staunch  con- 
servative and  it  was  very  difficult  to  find  a  welcome 
in  the  bar  parlor  without  sharing  that  faith. 

It  could  not  be  said  that  William  Hollis  had  ever 
aspired  to  the  good  graces  of  the  house.  There  were 
obvious  reasons  why  this  was  the  case.  For  sixteen 
years  he  had  not  passed  through  its  doors;  in  that 
long  period  he  had  not  even  entered  the  humbler  part 
of  the  premises  known  as  "the  vaults,"  sacred  to  Tom, 

73 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Dick  and  Harry,  where  the  more  substantial  patrons 
of  the  establishment  disdained  to  set  foot. 

To-night,  however,  new  and  strange  forces  were  at 
work  in  Bill.  Borne  along  a  tide  of  cosmic  events  as 
far  as  those  fascinating  doors  he  was  suddenly  and 
quite  irrationally  mastered  by  a  desire  to  go  in. 

Partly  it  may  have  been  bravado ;  certainly  it  was  a 
daring  act  to  cross  that  threshold.  But  Josiah  him- 
self, for  whose  personal  prowess  his  son-in-law  had  a 
wholesome  respect,  was  safe  at  the  Show;  besides,  the 
proprietor  was  too  great  a  man  these  days  to  visit  the 
house  very  often.  Years  ago  he  had  ceased  to  reside 
there  with  his  family;  and  in  his  steady  social  ascent 
he  was  careful  not  to  emphasize  a  dubious  but  ex- 
tremely lucrative  connection  with  that  which  regarded 
in  perspective  was  but  a  common  public  house. 

The  chances  were  that  Bill  Hollis  would  be  spared 
this  evening  an  encounter  with  his  father-in-law  and 
former  master.  But  why  he  should  decide  so  suddenly 
to  take  the  risk  was  hard  to  say,  unless  it  was  the  half 
fantastic  reaction  of  an  exceedingly  impressionable 
mind  to  a  crisis  almost  without  a  precedent  in  human 
experience.  By  nature  a  sociable  fellow,  he  had  now 
an  intense  desire  to  exchange  ideas  with  responsible, 
knowledgeable  people,  with  those  possessing  more 
light  than  himself.  The  Duke  of  Wellington  was  the 
headquarters  of  such  in  that  part  of  the  city;  it  was 
the  haunt  of  the  quidnuncs  and  the  well  informed;  and 
it  may  have  been  for  that  reason  that  Bill  dived  sud- 

74 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

denly  through  the  swing  doors,  an  act  he  had  not  per- 
formed for  sixteen  years,  and  crossed  the  dark,  cool 
passage  with  its  highly  spiced  but  not  unattractive 
odors.  . 

It  may  have  been  the  magnitude  of  the  situation  in 
Europe  which  had  suddenly  rendered  all  private  mat- 
ters ridiculous,  or  it  may  have  been  the  talisman  un- 
der his  arm  which  inspired  him  with  an  unwonted 
hardihood,  but  instead  of  turning  into  the  taproom, 
the  first  on  the  left,  which  would  have  satisfied  the 
claims  of  honor  and  wisdom,  he  pushed  boldly  on  past 
the  glass-surrounded  cubicle  of  the  celebrated  but 
haughty  Miss  Searson,  into  the  Mecca  of  the  just  and 
the  good,  sublimely  guarded  by  that  peri. 

In  a  kind  of  dull  excitement  he  entered  the  famous 
Bar  Parlor.  To  his  surprise,  and  rather  perversely, 
to  his  relief,  it  was  empty,  except  that,  behind  a 
counter  in  a  strategical  angle  that  commanded  the 
room  as  well  as  the  passage,  Miss  Searson  was  over- 
whelmingly present,  but  absorbed  apparently  at  that 
moment  in  crocheting  a  two-inch  lace  border  to  an 
article  of  female  attire  sacred  to  the  pages  of  the  real- 
ists. 

Nothing  seemed  to  have  altered  in  sixteen  years, 
even  to  the  fly-blown  advertisement  of  Muirhead's 
Pale  Brandy  facing  the  door,  and  surrounding  Miss 
Searson  the  double  row  of  brass  taps,  it  had  once  been 
a  part  of  his  duties  to  keep  clean.  And  that  lady 
herself,  sixteen  years  had  altered  her  surprisingly  lit- 

75 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

tie,  if  at  all.  She  was  what  is  known  technically  as  a 
chemical  blonde,  a  high-bosomed,  high-voiced,  large- 
featured,  large-earringed  lady,  with  remarkable  teeth 
and  an  aloofness  of  manner  which  might  almost  be 
said  to  enforce  respect  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 

When  Miss  Searson  looked  up  from  her  crochet  she 
could  hardly  believe  her  eyes.  William  Hollis,  in  his 
former  incarnation,  had  been  known  to  her  as  Bill  the 
Barman,  and  she  in  that  distant  epoch  had  been  known 
to  him  as  a  Stuck-Up  Piece.  Unofficially  of  course. 
Outwardly  everybody  paid  deference  to  Miss  Searson; 
even  the  proprietor  himself,  if  he  could  be  said  to 
pay  deference  to  any  human  being,  had  always  adopt- 
ed that  attitude  to  Miss  Searson;  as  for  Bill  the  Bar- 
man, he  had  been  hardly  more  than  a  worm  in  her 
sight.  And  then  had  come  the  Great  Romance.  It 
had  come  like  a  bolt  out  of  clear  sky,  knocking  a  whole 
world  askew  as  Miss  Searson  understood  it;  a  whole 
world  of  sacred  values  by  which  Miss  Searson  and 
those  within  her  orbit  regulated  their  lives. 

The  entrance  of  Bill  Hollis  into  the  bar  struck  Miss 
Searson  dumb  with  surprise.  In  a  mind  temporarily 
bewildered  sixteen  years  were  as  but  a  single  day. 
This  was  the  first  occasion  in  that  long  period  that  the 
incredible  adventurer  who  had  suborned  the  eldest 
daughter  of  his  stern  master  into  marrying  him  had 
dared  to  revisit  the  scene  of  his  crime.  To  weak 
minds  a  great  romance,  no  doubt,  but  the  lady  behind 
the  bar  had  not  a  weak  mind,  therefore  she  was  not 

76 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

in  the  least  romantic.  She  saw  things  as  they  were, 
she  knew  what  life  was.  It  was  very  well  for  such 
things  to  happen  in  the  pages  of  a  novel,  but  in  the 
daily  round  of  humdrum  existence  they  simply  didn't 
answer. 

It  seemed  an  age  to  Miss  Searson  before  William 
the  Incredible  girded  his  courage  to  the  point  of  or- 
dering a  pint  of  bitter.  She  drew  it  in  stately  silence, 
handed  it  across  the  counter  and  accepted  threepence 
with  superb  hauteur. 

He  drank  a  little.  It  was  no  mean  brew;  and  he 
felt  so  much  a  man  for  the  experience  that  he  was 
able  to  ask  Miss  Searson  what  she  thought  of  the 
news. 

"News,"  said  Miss  Searson  loftily.    "News?" 

"War  with  Germany." 

"Oh,  that!"  A  Juno-like  toss  of  Miss  Searson's 
coiffure.  But  there  she  stopped.  War  with  Ger- 
many was  none  of  her  business,  nor  was  it  going  to 
be  her  business  to  be  forced  into  conversation  with 
a  character  whose  standing  was  so  doubtful  as  the 
former  barman.  Miss  Searson  was  not  a  believer  in 
finesse.  Her  methods  had  a  brutal  simplicity  which 
made  them  tremendously  effective. 

However,  this  evening  they  were  less  effective  than 
usual.  The  world  itself  was  tottering,  and  a  deep, 
deep  chord  in  the  amazing  Bill  Hollis  was  responsive 
to  the  cataclysm.  This  evening  he  was  not  himself, 

77 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

he  was  more  than  himself;  his  appearance  in  the  Pri- 
vate Bar  was  proof  of  it. 

Miss  Searson  was  but  a  woman,  a  human  female. 
She  meant  nothing,  she  meant  less  than  nothing  in 
this  hour  of  destiny.  "Yes,  that!"  He  filled  in  the 
pause,  after  waiting  in  vain  for  her  to  do  so.  "War 
with  Germany.  Do  you  realize  it?"  His  voice  was 
full  of  emotion. 

But  Miss  Searson  did  not  intend  to  be  drawn  into 
a  discussion  of  anything  so  fanciful  as  war  with  Ger- 
many. She  was  practical.  A  sensorious  mouth  shut 
like  a  trap.  She  regarded  Bill  with  the  eye  of  a  cod- 
fish. 

"D'you  realize  what  it  means?" 

By  an  adroit  turn  of  the  head  towards  the  farther 
beer-engine  she  gave  William  Hollis  the  full  benefit  of 
a  pile  of  stately  back  hair.  And  then  she  said  slowly, 
as  if  she  were  trying  to  bite  off  the  head  of  each  blunt 
syllable,  "Do  you  realize  that  the  Mester  sometimes 
looks  in  about  this  time  of  a  Thursday?" 


XIV 

A  NORMAL  Bill  Hollis  would  not  have  been 
slow  to  analyze  this  speech  and  to  find  a  lurking 
insult.  But  he  was  not  a  normal  Bill  Hollis  this  eve- 
ning; it  was  the  last  place  he  was  likely  to  be  in  if  he 
had  been.  Therefore  he  shook  his  head  gently  at  Miss 
Searson  without  submitting  her  to  any  more  destruc- 
tive form  of  criticism.  What  a  fool  the  woman  was, 
what  a  common  fool  not  to  understand  that  in  the 
presence  of  a  war  with  Germany  nothing  else  could 
possibly  matter. 

"I  don't  think  I'd  stop  here — if  I  was  you."  Yes, 
there  was  a  bluntness  about  Miss  Searson  which  at 
ordinary  times  had  a  unique  power  of  "getting  there." 
But  Bill  merely  smiled  at  her  now.  The  chrysanthe- 
mum-topped fathead!  Suddenly  he  reached  the  limit 
of  his  endurance;  he  expressed  a  boundless  contempt 
for  her  and  all  her  tribe  by  recourse  to  a  spittoon. 

How  could  Melia  ever  have  married  him  .  .  . 
Melia  Munt  who  might  have  married  an  architect ! .  .  . 

Bill  Hollis  defensively  went  on  with  his  bitter.  He 
was  consumed  with  scorn  of  a  person  whom  he  had 
once  respected  immensely.  She  was  found  out,  the 
shallow  fool,  fringe  and  back  hair  included!  When 
he  came  to  the  end  of  the  pint,  he  paused  a  moment 

79 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

in  the  midst  of  the  pleasant  sensations  it  had  in- 
spired and  then  decided  that  he  would  have  another, 
not  because  he  wanted  another,  but  because  he  felt 
that  it  would  annoy  this  Toplofty  Crackpot. 

The  second  pint  did  annoy  the  T.C.,  annoyed  her 
obviously;  emotionally  she  was  a  very  obvious  lady. 
But  it  was  odd  that  Bill  Hollis,  shaken  to  the  depths 
by  a  world  catastrophe,  should  desire  a  cheap  revenge 
and  stoop  to  gratify  it.  Perhaps  it  was  a  case  of 
multiple  personality.  There  were  several  Bill  Hollises 
in  this  moment  of  destiny. 

There  was  the  Bill  Hollis  who  gave  the  defiant 
order  for  another  pint  of  bitter,  the  Bill  Hollis  who 
paid  for  it  with  truculent  coolness,  the  Bill  Hollis  who 
bore  it  to  the  window  the  better  to  regard  the  somber 
stream  of  fellow  citizens  flowing  steadily  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Market  Place,  the  Bill  Hollis  who  took  a 
beer- stained  copy  of  the  Blackhampton  Tribune  from 
a  table  with  a  marble  top  and  glanced  at  the  porten- 
tous headings  of  its  many  columns.  And  finally  there 
was  the  Bill  Hollis  who  suddenly  heard  with  a  sick 
thrill  that  came  very  near  to  nausea  a  footfall  heavily 
familiar  and  a  voice  outside  in  the  passage. 

Could  it  be  ...   !    Could  it  be  that  .  .  .   ! 

There  was  a  look  of  obvious  triumph  on  the  almost 
unnaturally  fair  countenance  of  Miss  Searson.  In 
her  grim  eyes  was  "I  told  you  so!" 

The  ex-barman,  in  the  peril  of  the  moment,  glanced 
hastily  around,  but  the  eyes  of  Miss  Searson  assured 

80 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

him  that  he  was  a  rat  and  that  he  was  caught  in  a 
trap.  Moreover  they  assured  him  that  if  ever  rat  de- 
served a  fate  so  ignominious,  William  Hollis  was  the 
name  of  that  rodent.  And  the  loathsome  animal  had 
time  to  recall  before  that  voice  and  those  footsteps 
were  able  to  enter  the  private  bar  that  sixteen  years 
ago  Miss  Searson  had  been  the  witness  of  a  certain 
incident.  And  if  her  warlike  bearing  meant  any- 
thing she  was  now  looking  for  a  repetition,  with  mod- 
ern improvements  and  variations. 

Escape  was  impossible,  that  was  clear.  And  on  the 
strength  of  a  fact  so  obvious  all  the  various  kinds  of 
Bill  Hollises  promptly  came  together  and  decided  to 
hand  over  the  body  politic  to  the  only  Bill  Hollis  who 
could  hope  to  deal  with  the  crisis.  This  was  the  Bill 
Hollis  who  had  had  a  pint  and  a  half  of  his  father-in- 
law's  excellent  bitter  and  felt  immeasurably  the  better 
for  it. 

As  a  measure  of  precaution  this  Bill  Hollis  spread 
wide  the  Tribune  and  by  taking  cover  behind  it  greatly 
reassured  his  brethren.  None  of  the  others  would 
have  had  the  wit  to  think  of  that.  Even  as  it  was  only 
a  pint  and  a  half  of  a  very  choice  brew  enabled  the 
device  to  be  put  coolly  and  quietly  into  practice. 

He  had  hardly  taken  cover  when  Josiah  came  in. 
Following  close  behind  were  Julius  Weiss  and  Coun- 
cilor Kersley.  It  was  a  tense  moment,  but  these  gran- 
dees were  occupied  with  a  matter  more  important  than 

81 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

the  identity  of  the  man  behind  the  newspaper  in  the 
corner  by  the  window. 

"Miss  Searson!"  The  tone  of  the  proprietor  was 
like  unto  that  of  Jove.  "Ring  up  Strathfieldsaye  and 
tell  them  I  am  going  to  eat  at  the  Club." 

Bill  Hollis  was  sensible  of  a  thrill.  He  was  a  mere 
cat  in  the  presence  of  a  king,  except  that  this  was  a 
king  whom  he  dare  not  look  at.  It  was  a  disgusting 
feeling  yet  somehow  it  was  exalting.  And  this  sense 
of  uplift  grew  when  Josiah  and  his  friends  disposed 
themselves  augustly  at  one  of  the  tables  with  a  marble 
top,  and  three  tankards  of  an  exclusive  brew  were 
brought  to  them  and  they  began  to  talk. 

It  was  "inner  circle  talk"  and  in  the  ear  of  William 
Hollis  that  lent  it  piquancy.  Really  it  was  what  he 
was  there  for.  The  newspapers  were  unsatisfying. 
He  craved  to  hear  the  matter  discussed  by  men  of  sub- 
stance, standing,  general  information,  by  men  of  the 
world.  Sitting  there  behind  his  paper  in  the  private 
bar,  he  felt  nearer  to  the  heart  of  things  than  he  had 
ever  been  in  his  life. 

"Is  it  going  to  make  so  much  difference?"  Coun- 
cilor Kersley,  the  eminent  retail  grocer,  asked  the 
question. 

"It's  going  to  alter  everything,  Kersley — you  mark 
me."  The  tone  of  Josiah  was  as  final  as  an  act  of 
parliament  and  Julius  Weiss  slowly  nodded  in  deep 
concurrence  with  it. 

82 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"Of  course  we  shall  down  *em,"  said  Councilor 
Kersley. 

"Yes,  we  shall  down  'em,  but "  Josiah's  "but" 

left  a  good  deal  to  the  imagination. 

"Don't  be  too  sure,  my  friends,"  said  the  master- 
hair-dresser. 

"Our  Navy'll  settle  it  at  the  finish,"  Josiah's  growl 
was  that  of  a  very  big  dog. 

Julius  Weiss  shook  his  head  solemnly  but  he  didn't 
speak  again.  An  odd,  uneasy  silence  settled  on  the 
three  of  them  wliile  they  drank  their  beer.  But  of 
a  sudden  there  came  a  wholly  unexpected  obtrusion 
into  the  conversation. 

The  man  by  the  window  lowered  his  paper.  "We're 
not  going  to  have  a  walk  over,  so  don't  let  us  think 
we  are."  For  a  reason  he  could  not  have  explained 
had  his  life  depended  on  it,  William  Hollis  revealed 
his  presence  and  plunged  horse,  foot  and  artillery  into 
the  matter  in  hand. 


XV 


JOSIAH  gave  him  a  look.  But  it  was  not  the  look 
he  might  have  expected  to  receive.  It  was  less  the 
look  of  a  vindictive  parent  and  employer  than  the  ges- 
ture a  Chamberlain  might  have  bestowed  on  a  Jesse 
Collings  or  a  Gladstone  on  a  John  Morley. 
"You're  right,  my  lad — not  a  walk  over." 
For  a  few  minutes  these  great  men  talked  on  and 
William  Hollis  by  sheer  force  of  some  innate  capacity, 
now  first  brought  to  life  in  the  stress  of  an  overwhelm- 
ing affair,  talked  with  them  as  an  equal.  These  were 
proud  moments  in  which  the  power  of  vision,  the  un- 
derstanding heart  seemed  to  come  by  their  own.  The 
world  was  on  fire,  and  it  the  flames  were  to  be  brought 
under  control  many  estimates  must  be  revised,  many 
standards  must  go  by  the  board.  Self-preservation, 
the  primal  instinct,  was  already  uppermost.  Brains, 
foresight,  mental  energy  were  at  a  premium  now. 
Any  man,  no  matter  who  or  what  he  might  be,  who 
had  it  in  him  to  contribute  to  the  common  stock  was 
more  than  welcome  to  do  so.  The  conflagration  had 
only  just  begun  but  a  new  range  of  ideas  was  already 
rife.  Men  were  no  longer  taken  on  trust,  institutions 
no  longer  accepted  at  their  face  value. 

But  all  too  soon  for  William  Hollis  the  proceedings 

84 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

came  to  an  end.  He  would  have  liked  to  sit  there  all 
night,  tossing  the  ball  among  his  peers,  listening  po- 
litely and  now  and  again  throwing  in  a  word.  Sud- 
denly, however,  the  door  of  the  private  bar  opened  and 
a  flaming-haired,  shirt-sleeved  appearance  in  a  green 
baize  apron  abruptly  thrust  in  its  head.  At  the  sight 
of  the  grandees  it  was  thrust  out  again  even  more 
abruptly. 

"That  George?" 

George  it  was. 

"Go  out  and  step  that  there  Bus."  In  the  command 
of  Josiah  was  all  the  power  of  the  man  of  privilege, 
the  almost  superhuman  authority  of  a  city  alderman. 
Bill  Hollis,  who  had  once  worn  the  green  apron  him- 
self, was  thrilled  by  the  recollection  that  even  in  his 
day,  when  Josiah  was  first  elected  to  the  town  council, 
the  public  vehicle  plying  for  hire  between  Jubilee  Park 
and  the  Market  Place  was  always  at  the  beck  and  call 
of  Mr.  Councilor  Munt.  Few  had  a  good  word  for 
him,  but  even  in  those  days  in  that  part  of  the  city 
his  word  was  law. 

Josiah  rose  and  his  friends  rose  with  him.  But  as 
he  moved  to  the  door  he  turned  a  dour  eye  upon  Bill 
Hollis.  Whole  volumes  were  in  it,  beyond  tongue  or 
pen  to  utter.  To-night  even  he,  in  the  stress  of  what 
was  happening  to  the  world  in  which  he  had  pros- 
pered so  greatly,  was  less  than  himself  and  also  more. 
An  eye  of  wary  truculence  pinned  the  ex-barman  to 
the  wainscot  while  the  master  of  the  house  uttered  his 

85 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

slow,  unwilling  growl.    "Not  a  bad  bloom  ye  sent  in, 
my  lad." 

It  was  a  very  big  dog  to  a  very  little  dog,  but  some- 
how it  told  far  more  than  was  intended.  Almost  in 
spite  of  himself,  the  man  who  on  a  day  had  abused 
the  confidence  of  his  master  by  marrying  his  eldest 
daughter  was  forced  to  realize  that  no  matter  what 
Josiah  Munt  might  be,  he  was  .  .  .  well,  he  was  Jan- 
nock! 


XVI 

TWENTY  minutes  later  William  Hollis,  feeling 
inches  taller,  and  more  in  harmony  with  him- 
self than  for  many  a  day,  went  forth  to  grapple  with 
the  situation  in  Europe. 

Half  Blackhampton,  at  least,  if  its  streets  meant 
anything,  was  bent  on  a  similar  errand.  From  every 
part  of  the  city,  its  people  were  slowly  filtering  in  twos 
and  threes  to  the  Great  Market  Place,  that  nodal  point 
of  the  local  life  and  of  the  life  of  the  empire.  Black- 
hampton claims  to  be  the  exact  center  of  England, 
speaking  geographically,  and  its  position  on  the  map 
is  reflected  i"  its  mental  outlook.  It  combines  a  healthy 
tolerance  for  the  ways  and  ideas  of  places  less  happily 
situated  with  a  noble  fajth  in  itself.  Time  and  again 
history  has  justified  that  faith;  time  and  again  it  has 
chosen  the  famous  town  as  the  scene  of  a  memorable 
manifestation,  as  its  castle,  its  churches,  its  ancient 
buildings,  its  streets  and  monuments  bear  witness. 
Here  an  ill-starred  king  declared  war  on  his  people, 
here  a  great  poet  was  born,  to  give  but  a  single  deed 
and  a  single  name  among  so  much  that  has  passed  into 
history.  Many  of  its  sons  have  shed  luster  on  their 
birthplace.  Here  is  a  street  bearing  the  name  of  one 
who  revolutionized  industry ;  yonder  the  humble  abode 

87 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

of  the  prizefighter  who  gave  his  name  to  one  of  the 
most  important  towns  of  Australia ;  over  there  the  ob- 
scure conventicle  of  the  plain  citizen  who  founded  a 
world  religion;  "up  yond"  the  early  home  of  one 
whose  name  is  a  household  word  on  five  continents; 
across  the  road  the  public  house  where  a  famous  ath- 
lete has  chosen  to  live  in  a  modest  but  honored  retire- 
ment. 

Biologists  say  that  all  forms  of  organic  life  are 
determined  by  climate.  Blackhampton  owed  much,  no 
doubt,  to  its  happy  situation  as  the  exact  center  of 
the  Empire,  but  no  city  in  the  kingdom  could  have 
lived  more  consciously  in  that  fact.  London  was  not 
without  importance  as  places  went ;  the  same  might  be 
said  for  New  York;  but  in  the  eyes  of  the  true  Black- 
hamptonian,  after  all,  these  centers  of  light  were  com- 
paratively provincial. 

This  evening  the  streets  of  the  city  were  alive  with 
true  Blackhamptonians.  In  the  sight  of  these  only 
Blackhampton  mattered.  Its  attitude  was  of  decisive 
consequence  in  this  unparalleled  crisis.  No  matter 
what  other  places  were  doing  and  thinking,  Black- 
hampton itself  was  fully  determined  to  pull  its  weight 
in  the  boat. 

The  press  of  citizens  was  very  great  by  the  time 
Bill  Hollis  arrived  in  the  Market  Place.  In  partic- 
ular, they  were  gathered  in  serious  groups  before  the 
City  Hall,  the  Imperial  Club  and  the  offices  of  the 
Blackhampton  Tribune,  which  continued  to  emit  hourly 

88 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

editions  of  the  Evening  Star  with  fuller  accounts  o! 
the  proceedings  in  Parliament  and  the  latest  tele- 
grams concerning  the  fighting  in  Belgium. 

The  British  Cabinet  had  given  Germany  until  mid- 
night, but  Blackhampton  had  fully  made  up  its  mind 
in  the  matter  by  five  minutes  past  nine,  which  was  the 
precise  hour  that  Mr.  William  Hollis  arrived  to  bear 
his  part  in  the  local  witenagemot.  His  part  was  the 
relatively  humble  one  of  standing  in  front  of  the 
Imperial  Club  and  gazing  with  rather  wistful  eyes 
into  that  brightly  tiled  and  glazed  and  highly  bur- 
nished interior  as  it  was  momentarily  revealed  by  the 
entrance  of  a  member. 

Even  so  early  in  the  world's  history  as  five  minutes 
past  nine  it  was  known  to  those  privileged  sons  of  the 
race  who  had  assembled  in  front  of  the  sandstone  and 
red  brick  facade  of  the  Blackhampton  Imperial  Club 
that  Germany  "was  going  to  get  it  in  the  neck."  There 
must  be  a  limit  to  all  things  and  Germany  had  al- 
ready exceeded  it.  The  Cabinet  having  unluckily 
omitted  to  provide  itself  with  even  one  Blackhampton 
man  was  yet  doing  its  best  to  keep  pace  with  informed 
Blackhampton  opinion,  but  events  were  moving  very 
quickly  in  front  of  the  Imperial  Club.  At  a  quarter 
past  nine  Sir  Reuben  Jope,  the  chairman  of  the  Party, 
drove  up  in  his  electric  brougham,  a  bearded  fierce- 
eyed  figure  whose  broadcloth  trousers  allied  to  a  pre- 
historic box  hat  seemed  to  make  him  a  cross  between 
a  rather  aggressive  Free  Kirk  elder  and  an  extraor- 

89 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

dinarily  respectable  pirate.  At  twenty  minutes  past 
nine  Mr.  Whibley,  the  Club  porter,  an  imposing  vision 
in  pale  brown,  gold  braid,  and  brass  buttons,  came 
down  the  steps  and  informed  a  friend  on  the  curb 
"that  the  Fleet  was  fully  mobilized." 

Other  luminaries  continued  to  arrive.  It  was  like 
the  night  of  a  very  hotly  contested  election,  except 
for  the  fact  that  every  one  of  the  thousands  of  hu- 
man beings  thronging  the  Market  Place  were  of  one 
mind.  But  there  was  neither  boasting  nor  revelry. 
This  was  a  sagacious,  a  keen-bitten,  a  practical  race. 
A  terrible  job  was  on  hand,  but  it  was  realized  al- 
ready that  it  would  have  to  be  done.  The  thing  had 
gone  too  far.  There  were  no  demonstrations;  on  the 
contrary,  a  quietude  so  intense  as  to  seem  unnatural 
gave  the  measure  and  the  depth  of  Blackhampton's 
feeling  upon  the  subject. 

Had  Bill  Hollis  used  the  forty-one  years  of  his  life 
in  a  way  to  justify  his  early  ambitions  he  would  have 
been  inside  the  Club  on  this  historical  evening,  sitting 
on  red  leather  and  smoking  a  cigar  with  the  best  of 
them.  As  it  was  he  had  to  be  content  with  a  foremost 
place  in  the  ever-growing  throng  outside  the  Club 
portals,  from  which  point  of  vantage  he  was  able  to 
witness  the  arrival  of  many  renowned  citizens  and 
also  to  gaze  through  the  famous  bow  window  which 
abutted  on  to  the  Square  at  the  array  of  notables 
within.  In  the  intensity  of  the  hour  the  Club  serv- 
ants had  omitted  to  draw  down  the  blinds. 

90 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

At  ten  minutes  to  ten  Mr.  Alderman  Munt,  sus- 
tained by  roast  saddle  of  mutton  and  green  peas,  fruit 
tart  and  custard,  appeared  in  the  embrasure  with  a 
large  cigar.  Seen  from  the  street  he  looked  a  tre- 
mendously imposing  figure.  Even  in  the  midst  of  the 
men  of  light  and  leading  who  surrounded  him  he  was 
a  Saul  towering  among  the  prophets.  Not  even  his 
admirers,  and  in  the  city  of  his  birth  these  were  sin- 
gularly few,  ventured  to  call  him  genial,  but  there  was 
power,  virility,  unconscious  domination  in  the  far- 
flung  glance  that  marked  the  press  beyond  the  Club 
windows.  Somehow  there  was  a  bulldog  look  about 
him  that  was  extraordinarily  British.  Somehow  he 
looked  a  good  man  in  a  tight  place  and  a  bad  one  to 
cross. 

Had  the  question  been  asked  there  was  not  one 
among  that  throng  of  hushed  spectators  who  could 
have  explained  his  own  presence  in  the  Market  Place, 
nor  could  he  have  said  just  what  he  was  doing  there. 
A  powerful  magnet  had  drawn  the  many  together  into 
a  limited  space  on  an  airless  evening  in  August  to 
gaze  at  one  another  and  to  wonder  what  was  going 
to  happen,  yet  well  knowing  that  nothing  could  hap- 
pen as  far  as  that  evening  was  concerned.  But  in 
this  strange  gathering,  in  the  solemn  hush  that  came 
upon  it  from  time  to  time,  was  the  visible  evidence 
that  the  people  of  Blackhampton  were  standing  to- 
gether in  a  supreme  moment.  Perhaps  it  gave  a  feel- 
ing of  security  that  each  was  shoulder  to  shoulder 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

with  his  neighbor  in  this  hour  so  fateful  for  them- 
selves, for  Blackhampton,  for  the  human  race. 

Nothing  happened,  yet  everything  happened.  The 
throng  grew  denser  inside  and  outside  the  Imperial 
Club,  but  casual  remarks  became  even  less  frequent, 
newsboys  ceased  to  shout,  and  presently  the  hour  of 
midnight  boomed  across  the  square  from  the  great 
clock  on  the  Corn  Exchange  and  from  many  neigh- 
boring steeples.  Nothing  happened.  But  it  was 
Wednesday,  August  the  fifth.  The  silent  multitude 
began  slowly  to  disperse.  A  new  phase  had  opened 
in  history. 

It  was  not  until  a  quarter  past  one,  by  which  time 
four-fifths  of  the  crowd  had  gone  away  as  quietly  as 
it  had  assembled,  that  Bill  Hollis  slowly  made  his 
way  home  to  Love  Lane.  In  his  hand  was  the  prize 
he  had  so  unexpectedly  gained,  wrapped  in  the  Even- 
ing Star,  but  somehow  the  Show  and  all  the  other 
incidents  of  a  crowded,  memorable,  even  glorious  day 
seemed  very  far  off  as  his  boots  echoed  along  the  nar- 
row streets.  An  imaginative  man  in  whom  psychic 
perception  was  sometimes  raised  to  a  high  power,  he 
was  oppressed  by  a  stealthy  sense  of  disaster.  It  was 
as  if  an  earthquake  had  shaken  the  world  from  pole 
to  pole.  It  was  as  if  all  the  people  in  it  were  a  little 
dizzy  with  a  vibration  they  could  hardly  feel  which 
yet  had  shivered  the  foundations  of  society. 


XVII 

BLACKHAMPTON  was  in  the  war  from  the  first 
moment.  Never  its  custom  to  do  things  by 
halves,  this  body  of  clear  thinking  Britons  did  its  best 
to  rise  to  the  greatest  occasion  in  history.  Its  best 
was  not  enough — nothing  human  could  have  been — 
but  as  far  as  it  went  it  was  heroic. 

In  the  first  days  of  the  disaster  none  could  tell  its 
magnitude.  Forces  had  been  set  in  motion  whose  co- 
lossal displacement  was  beyond  human  calculation. 
Something  more  than  buckets  of  water  are  required 
to  cope  with  a  prairie  fire,  but  at  first  there  seemed 
no  other  means  at  hand  of  dealing  with  it. 

Within  the  tentative  and  narrow  scope  of  the  ma- 
chinery provided  by  the  state  wonders  were  performed 
in  the  early  weeks  of  the  holocaust.  Every  bucket  the 
country  could  boast  was  called  into  use,  but  the  flames 
seemed  always  to  gain  in  power  and  fury. 

From  the  outset  this  midland  city,  like  the  kingdom 
itself,  betrayed  not  a  sign  of  panic.  In  the  presence 
of  fathomless  danger  it  remained  calm.  British 
nerves  lie  deep  down,  and  in  those  first  shattering 
weeks  the  entire  nation  stood  stolidly  to  its  guns  un- 
der the  threat  of  night  and  disruption. 

The  energy  shown  by  Blackhampton  in  organizing 

93 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

hospitals  and  in  raising  men  to  fill  them  was  truly 
amazing,  yet  in  this  it  was  no  more  than  the  mirror 
of  the  whole  country.  City  vied  with  city,  shire  vied 
with  shire,  in  voluntary  service  to  a  state,  that,  no 
matter  what  its  defects,  was  able  to  maintain  a  sense 
of  proportion  which  may  be  claimed  as  the  common 
measure  of  the  republic.  The  curious  anacronism, 
magniloquently  miscalled  the  British  Empire,  rose  at 
once  to  a  moral  height  without  a  precedent  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world.  It  would  have  been  fatally  easy  in 
the  circumstances  of  the  case  for  a  brotherhood  of 
free  peoples  to  have  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  voice 
of  honor.  The  mine  was  sprung  so  quickly,  the  issues 
at  stake  were  so  cunningly  veiled,  that  only  "a  decent 
and  a  dauntless  people,"  unprepared  as  they  were  and 
taken  by  surprise,  would  have  cast  themselves  into 
the  breach  at  an  hour's  notice,  fully  alive  to  the  na- 
ture of  the  act  and  by  a  divine  instinct  aware  of  its 
necessity,  yet  without  fully  comprehending  what  it 
involved. 

Governments  and  politicians,  like  books  and  writ- 
ers, exist  to  be  criticized,  and  it  is  their  common  mis- 
fortune that  impudence  is  now  the  first  function  of 
wisdom.  History  is  not  likely  to  deny  the  great  part 
played  in  a  supreme  moment  by  certain  brave  and  en- 
lightened men.  In  the  end  the  mean  arts  of  the  party 
journal  will  not  rob  of  their  need  those  who  have  made 
still  possible  a  decent  life. 

Within  a  fortnight  of  the  outbreak  arose  a  crying 

94 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

need  for  men.  Few,  even  at  that  moment,  were  bold 
enough  to  breathe  the  word  "conscription."  Britain 
was  a  maritime  power.  Armies  on  the  Continental 
scale  were  none  of  her  business.  Russia  and  France 
bred  to  European  conditions,  with  a  fundamental  man 
power  fully  equal  to  that  of  the  Central  Empires  could 
be  trusted  to  hold  their  own.  But  these  fallacies  were 
soon  exposed. 

Still,  even  then,  the  country  hesitated  to  take  the 
plunge.  Conscription  seemed  to  many  the  direct  ne- 
gation of  what  it  had  stood  for  in  the  past.  These  still 
pinned  their  faith  to  the  system  of  voluntary  levies. 
The  rally  of  the  country's  manhood  to  a  cause  only 
indirectly  its  own  was  beyond  all  precedent.  Field 
Marshal  Viscount  Partington  mobilized  his  very  best 
mop  and  sent  it  to  deal  with  the  Atlantic.  For  all 
that  the  flood  did  not  subside  and  it  gradually  dawned 
on  the  public  mind  that  more  comprehensive  methods 
might  be  needed. 

In  the  meantime  the  Hun  was  at  the  gate  of  Paris. 
The  Channel  ports,  if  not  actually  in  the  hands  of 
the  enemy,  were  as  good  as  lost.  Belgium  was  being 
ground  under  the  heel  of  a  savage  conqueror.  And 
in  the  city  of  Blackhampton,  as  elsewhere  in  Britain, 
these  things  made  a  very  deep  impression. 

Among  the  many  forcible  men  that  a  new  world 
phase  revealed  Blackhampton  to  possess,  none  stood 
out  more  boldly  in  those  first  grim  weeks  than  Josiah 
Munt.  The  proprietor  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington 

95 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

was  a  man  of  peculiar  gifts,  and  it  was-  soon  only  too 
clear  that  not  only  Blackhampton,  but  England  her- 
self, had  need  of  them.  His  was  the  ruthless  energy 
that  disdains  finesse.  It  sees  what  to  do,  or  believes 
it  does — almost  as  important  in  life  as  we  know  it! — 
and  goes  straight  ahead  and  gets  it  done. 

One  evening  in  the  middle  of  September  Josiah 
came  home  to  dinner  in  a  very  black  mood.  It  was 
not  often  that  he  yielded  to  depression.  But  he  had 
had  a  hard  day  on  local  war  committees  in  the  course 
of  which  he  had  been  in  contact  with  men  nearer  to 
the  center  of  things  than  he  was  himself.  Moreover, 
these  were  men  from  whom  this  shrewd  son  of  the 
midlands  was  only  too  ready  to  learn.  They  were 
behind  the  scenes.  Sources  of  information  were  open 
to  them  which  even  a  Blackhampton  alderman  might 
envy;  and  they  were  far  from  echoing  the  airy  opti- 
mism of  the  public  press,  The  fabric  of  society,  stable 
but  elastic,  by  means  of  which  Josiah  himself  and  so 
many  like  him  had  been  able  in  the  course  of  two  or 
three  decades  to  rise  from  obscurity  to  a  certain  power 
and  dignity  was  in  urgent  danger.  The  whole  of  the 
western  world  was  in  the  melting  pot.  That  which 
had  been  could  never  be  again.  Cherished  institu- 
tions were  already  in  the  mire.  And  all  this  was  but 
the  prelude  to  a  tragedy  of  which  none  could  see  the 
end. 

Josiah's  mood  that  evening  was  heavy.  Even  the 

96 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

presence  at  the  meal  of  his  sister-in-law,  as  a  rule  a 
natural  tonic,  did  little  to  lighten  it. 

"They  won't  get  Paris  now,"  she  affirmed. 

"We  don't  know  that."  He  shook  his  head  with 
the  gesture  of  a  tired  man.  "Nobody  knows  it." 

"No,  I  suppose  they  don't."  Miss  Preston  read  in 
that  somber  manner  the  need  for  mental  readjust- 
ment. "But  the  papers  say  that  General  Joffre  has 
the  situation  in  hand." 

Josiah  renounced  a  plate  of  mutton  broth  only  half 
consumed.  "Mustn't  believe  a  word  you  see  in  the 
papers,  my  gel.  They  don't  know  much,  and  half  of 
what  they  do  know  they  are  not  allowed  to  tell." 
Miss  Preston  discreetly  supposed  that  it  was  so.  "But 
things  are  going  better,  aren't  they?" 

"We'll  hope  they  are."  Josiah's  fierce  attack  upon 
the  joint  in  front  of  him  seemed  to  veto  the  subject. 

The  silence  that  followed  was  broken  by  Maria, 
whose  entrance  into  the  conversation  was  quite  un- 
expected and  rather  startling.  "Did  you  know,"  she 
said,  "that  Melia's  husband  has  joined  the  army?" 

Josiah  suspended  operations  to  poise  an  interroga- 
tory carving  knife.  "Who  tells  you  that?"  he  said 
frostily. 

"The  boy  from  Murrell's,  the  greengrocer's," — 
somehow  the  infrequent  voice  of  Maria  had  an  odd 
precision — "said  to  Alice  this  morning  that  he  heard 
that  Mr.  Hollis  had  gone  for  a  soldier." 

Josiah  returned  to  the  joint,  content  for  the  time 

97 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

being  with  the  remark,  "that  it  was  a  bad  lookout  for 
the  Germans,"  a  sally  that  won  a  timely  laugh  from 
his  sister-in-law.  On  the  other  hand,  Maria,  who  had 
never  been  known  to  laugh  at  anything  in  all  her 
anxious  days,  began  to  wonder  somberly  whether 
Melia  would  be  able  to  carry  on  the  business. 

"From  all  that  I  hear,"  growled  Josiah,  "there  ain't 
a  sight  o'  business  to  be  carried  on." 

In  the  silence  which  followed  Maria  gave  a  sniff 
that  was  slightly  lachrymose,  and  then  the  strategic 
Gerty  after  a  veiled  glance  towards  the  head  of  the 
table,  ventured  on  "Poor  Amelia." 

Josiah  was  in  the  act  of  giving  himself  what  he 
called  "a  man's  helping"  of  beans.  "She  made  her 
own  bed,"  he  said  in  a  tone  that  gained  in  force  by 
not  being  forcible,  "and  now  she's  got  to  lie  in  it." 

For  the  first  time  in  many  years,  however,  Maria 
seemed  to  be  visited  by  a  spark  of  spirit.  "Well,  I 
think  it's  credible  of  that  Hollis,  very  creditable." 

Josiah  raised  a  glass  of  beer  to  the  light  with  a 
connoisseur's  disparagement  of  its  color,  and  then  he 
said,  "In  my  opinion  he's  running  away  from  his 
creditors.  I  hear  he  owes  money  all  round." 

"He's  going  to  risk  his  life,  though,"  ventured  Aunt 
Gerty.  "And  that's  something." 

"It  is — if  he  risks  it,"  Josiah  reluctantly  allowed. 

Maria  became  so  tearful  that  she  was  unable  to  con- 
tinue her  dinner. 


XVIII 

THE  next  morning,  about  a  quarter  to  ten,  Josiah 
boarded  a  Municipal  tram  at  the  foot  of  The 
Rise,  earning  in  the  process  the  almost  groveling  re- 
spect of  its  conductor,  and  paid  twopence  for  a  jour- 
ney to  Love  Lane.  Five  doors  up  on  the  left  was  a 
meager  house  that  had  been  converted  into  a  green- 
grocer's shop.  By  far  the  most  imposing  thing  about 
it  was  a  signboard,  which,  although  sadly  in  need  of 
a  coat  of  paint,  boldly  displayed  the  name  William 
Hollis  Fruiterer,  in  white  letters  on  a  black  ground. 
For  the  last  sixteen  years,  whenever  the  proprietor 
of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  had  occasion  to  pass  this 
eyesore  which  was  clearly  visible  from  the  busy  main 
thoroughfare  that  ran  by  the  end  of  the  street,  he 
made  it  a  fixed  rule  to  look  the  other  way.  But  this 
morning  when  he  got  off  the  tram  car  at  the  corner, 
he  set  his  teeth,  faced  the  signboard  resolutely  and 
walked  slowly  towards  it. 

A  stately  thirty  seconds  or  so  of  progress  brought 
him  to  the  shop  itself.  For  a  moment  he  stood  look- 
ing in  the  window,  which  was  neither  more  nor  less 
than  that  of  a  visibly  unprosperous  greengrocer  in  a 
very  small  way  of  business.  He  then  entered  a  rather 

99 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

moribund  interior,  the  stock  in  trade  of  which  con- 
sisted in  the  main  of  baskets  of  potatoes  and  carrots 
and  an  array  of  stale  cabbages  laid  in  a  row  on  the 
counter. 

The  shop  had  no  one  in  it,  but  the  first  step  taken 
by  an  infrequent  customer  across  its  threshold  rang 
a  bell  attached  to  the  underside  of  a  loose  board  in 
the  floor,  thereby  informing  a  mysterious  entity  be- 
yond a  glass  door  draped  with  a  surprisingly  clean 
lace  curtain  that  it  was  required  elsewhere. 

The  entity  did  not  immediately  respond  to  Josiah's 
heavy-footed  summons.  When  it  did  respond  it  was 
seen  to  be  that  of  a  thin  faced,  exceedingly  unhappy 
looking  woman  of  thirty-five  whose  hair  was  begin- 
ning to  turn  gray.  Her  print  dress,  much  worn  but 
scrupulously  clean  and  neat,  had  its  sleeves  rolled 
back  beyond  the  elbows;  and  this  fact  and  a  coarse 
sackcloth  apron  implied  that  she  had  been  interrupted 
in  the  task  of  scrubbing  the  floor  of  the  back  prem- 
ises. 

The  interior  of  the  shop  was  rather  dark  and  Josiah, 
having  taken  up  a  position  in  its  most  sunless  corner, 
was  not  recognized  at  once  by  his  eldest  daughter. 

They  stood  looking  at  each  other,  not  knowing  what 
to  say  or  how  to  carry  themselves  after  a  complete 
estrangement  of  sixteen  years.  Josiah,  however,  had 
taken  the  initiative;  he  was  a  ready  witted  man  of 
affairs  and  he  had  been  careful  to  enter  the  shop  with 
a  formula  already  prepared  to  his  mind.  It  might 

TOO 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

or  might  not  bridge  the  gulf,  but  in  any  case  that  did 
not  greatly  matter.  He  had  not  come  out  of  a  desire 
to  make  concessions;  he  was  there  at  the  call  of  duty. 

"They  tell  me  your  man's  joined  th'  army."  That 
was  the  formula,  but  it  needed  speaking.  And  when 
spoken  it  was,  after  a  moment  uncannily  tense,  it  was 
not  as  Alderman  Munt  J.P.  had  expected  and  intended 
to  utter  it.  Instead  of  being  quite  impersonal,  the  tone 
and  the  manner  were  rude  and  grim.  Somehow  they 
had  thrown  back  to  an  earlier  phase  of  autocratic  par- 
enthood. 

Melia  turned  very  white.  It  did  not  seem  possible 
for  her  to  say  anything  beyond  a  defiant  "yes."  Breath- 
ing hard,  she  stood  looking  stonily  at  her  father. 

"When  did  he  go?" 

"Monday."  The  tone  of  Melia  was  queerly  like 
his  own. 

Josiah  rolled  the  scrub  of  whisker  under  his  chin 
between  his  thumb  and  forefinger,  and  then  slowly 
transferred  the  weight  of  his  ponderous  body  from 
one  massive  foot  to  the  other.  "Don't  seem  to  be 
doing  much  trade." 

"Not  much."  But  the  tone  of  Melia  rather  im- 
plied that  it  was  none  of  his  business  even  if  such 
was  the  case. 

"Will  ye  be  able  to  carry  on  ?" 

Melia  didn't  know.  Her  father  didn't  either.  He 
was  inclined  to  think  not,  but  without  expressing  that 
opinion  he  stood  with  narrowed  eyes  and  pursing  his 

101 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

lips  somberly.    "Where's  the  books?"  he  said  abruptly. 

The  desire  uppermost  in  Melia  was  to  tell  him  in 
just  a  few  plain  words  that  the  books  were  no  con- 
cern of  his  and  that  she  would  be  much  obliged  if 
he  would  go  about  his  own  affairs.  But  for  some 
reason  she  was  not  able  to  do  so.  She  was  no  longer 
afraid  of  him;  years  ago  she  had  learned  to  hate  and 
despise  him;  but  either  she  was  not  strong  enough, 
not  a  big  enough  character  to  be  openly  rude  to  him, 
or  the  subtle  feelings  of  a  daughter,  long  since  re- 
jected and  forgotten,  may  have  intervened.  For  after 
a  horrible  moment,  in  which  devils  flew  round  in  her, 
she  said  impassively,  "Don't  keep  none." 

"Not  books!  Don't  keep  books!"  The  man  of  af- 
fairs caught  up  the  admission  and  treated  it  almost 
as  a  young  bull  in  a  paddock  might  have  treated  a 
red  parasol.  "Never  heard  the  like !"  He  cast  a  truc- 
ulent glance  round  the  half  denuded  shop.  "No  won- 
der the  jockey  has  to  make  compositions  with  his  cred- 
itors." 

Melia  flushed  darkly.  She  would  have  given  much 
had  she  been  able  at  that  moment  to  order  this  father 
of  hers  out  of  the  shop,  but  every  minute  now  seemed 
to  bring  him  an  increasing  authority.  The  Dad,  the 
tyrant  and  the  bully  whom  she  had  feared,  defied  and 
secretly  admired,  was  now  in  full  possession.  At  bot- 
tom, sixteen  years  had  not  changed  him  and  it  had 
not  changed  her.  Had  the  man  for  whom  she  had 
wrecked  her  life  had  something  of  her  father's  qual- 

102 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

ity  she  might  have  forgiven  his  inefficiency,  his  tragic 
failure  as  a  human  being,  or  at  any  rate  have  been 
more  able  to  excuse  herself  for  an  act  which,  look 
at  it  as  one  would,  was  simply  unforgivable. 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean."  Her  hard  voice 
trembled  and  then  broke  harshly — but  anger  and  de- 
fiance could  not  go  beyond  that.  "He  paid  the  quar- 
ter's rent  before  he  went  He  owes  a  few  pounds  but 
he's  going  to  send  me  a  bit  every  week  until  it's  paid." 

"I  suppose  you've  got  a  list  of  his  liabilities."  Even 
his  voice  shook  a  little,  but  he  treated  the  scorn,  the 
anger,  the  hard  defiance  in  her  eyes  as  if  they  were 
not  there. 

Again  the  paramount  desire  was  to  insult  this  father 
of  hers,  had  it  been  humanly  possible  to  do  so.  But 
again  was  she  bereft  of  the  power  even  to  make  the 
attempt.  "Yes,  I  have,"  she  said  sullenly. 

"Let  me  see  it,  gel." 

For  nearly  a  minute  she  stood  biting  her  lips  and 
looking  at  him,  while  for  his  part  he  coolly  surveyed 
the  shop  in  all  its  miserable  inadequacy.  She  still 
wanted  to  order  him  out.  His  proprietary  air  en- 
raged her.  Yet  she  could  not  repress  a  sneaking  ad- 
miration for  it  and  that  enraged  her  even  more.  But 
she  suddenly  gave  up  fighting  and  retired  in  defeat  to 
the  mysterious  region  beyond  the  curtained  door, 
whence  she  returned  very  soon  with  a  piece  of  paper 
in  her  hand. 

Josiah  impressively  put  on  his  gold-rimmed  eye- 

103 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

glasses,  a  recent  addition  to  his  greatness,  and  exam- 
ined the  paper  critically.  The  amount  of  William 
Hollis's  indebtedness,  declared  in  hurried,  rather  il- 
literate pencil,  as  if  the  heart  of  the  writer  had  not 
been  in  his  task,  came  to  rather  less  than  twenty 
pounds. 

"This  the  lot?"  He  spoke  as  if  he  had  a  perfect 
right  to  ask  the  question. 

"It  is."  Her  eyes  and  her  voice  contested  the  right, 
yet  in  spite  of  themselves  they  admitted  it. 

"Who  owns  this  here  property?"  Again  the  half 
truculent  glance  explored  every  nook  and  cranny  of 
the  meager  premises. 

"Whatmore  the  builder." 

Josiah  rubbed  a  thick  knuckle  upon  his  cheek. 
"Ah !"  That  was  his  only  comment.  "Owns  the  row, 
I  suppose?" 

Melia  supposed  he  did. 

"What  rent  do  you  pay?" 

"Twenty-five."  She  resented  the  question,  but  the 
growing  magnetism  of  having  again  a  real  live  man 
to  deal  with  was  making  her  clay  in  his  hands. 

He  took  a  step  to  the  shop  door,  the  paper  still  in 
his  hand,  and  stood  an  instant  looking  up  the  dreary 
length  of  narrow  street.  It  was  only  an  instant  he 
stood  there,  but  it  was  long  enough  to  enable  him  to 
make  up  his  mind.  Suddenly  he  swung  round  on  his 
heel  to  confront  the  still  astonished  and  resentful 
Melia. 

104 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"Want  more  window  space,"  he  said.  "Casement 
ought  to  be  lower  and  larger.  Those  flowers" — he 
pointed  to  a  bowl  of  stocks  on  the  counter — "ought  to 
be  where  people  can  look  at  'em.  But  this  isn't  a 
neighborhood  for  flowers.  Offer  vegetables  and  fruit 
at  a  low  price,  but  more  shop  room's  needed  so  that 
folks  can  see  'em  and  so  that  you  can  buy  in  bigger 
quantities.  Who  is  your  wholesaler?"  He  looked 
down  the  list.  "Coggins,  eh?  Coggins  in  the  Mar- 
ket Place?" 

Melia  nodded.  Should  she  tell  him  that  Coggins 
had  that  morning  refused  to  supply  anything  else  un- 
til the  la,st  delivery  of  potatoes,  bananas  and  tomatoes 
had  been  paid  for?  Pride  said  no,  but  a  force  more 
elemental  than  pride  had  hold  of  her  now. 

"Owe  him  six  pound,  I  see.  What  does  he  let  you 
have  in  the  way  of  credit?" 

"He  won't  let  me  have  anything  else  until  I've  paid 
his  account,"  said  the  reluctant  Melia.  "And  he  says 
it's  all  got  to  be  cash  for  the  future." 

"When  did  he  say  that?" 

"He's  just  been  up  to  see  me." 

"Can  you  pay  him  ?" 

"I  promised  him  two  pounds  by  Saturday." 

Josiah  made  no  comment.  Once  more  his  eyes  made 
the  tour  of  the  shop.  And  then  he  said  with  the  slow 
grunt  that  Melia  knew  so  well: 

"Very  creditable  to  your  man  to  join  up  ...  if  he 
sticks  it." 

105 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

The  four  last  little  words  were  almost  sinister. 
And  then  in  the  unceremonious  way  in  which  he  had 
entered  the  shop  the  great  man  walked  out.  The  place 
was  as  distasteful  to  him  as  his  presence  in  it  was 
distasteful  to  his  eldest  daughter.  Yet  for  both,  and 
in  spite  of  themselves,  their  meeting  after  long  years 
had  had  an  extraordinary  grim  fascination. 


XIX 

AT  Christmas  Private  Hollis  was  granted  forty- 
eight  hours'  leave.  He  had  been  a  member  of 
the  Blackhampton  Battalion  rather  less  than  three 
months,  but  this  was  a  piece  of  luck  for  which  he  felt 
very  grateful. 

Those  three  months  had  been  a  grueling  time.  His 
age  was  forty-one,  and,  in  order  to  comply  with  the 
arbitrary  limit  of  thirty-eight  imposed  by  Field  Mar- 
shal Viscount  Partington  in  the  first  days  of  strife, 
it  had  been  necessary  to  falsify  his  age.  Many  an- 
other had  done  likewise.  Questions  were  not  asked, 
and  if  a  man  had  physical  soundness  and  the  stand- 
ards of  measurement  demanded  by  the  noble  Viscount 
there  seemed  no  particular  reason  why  they  should 
be.  All  the  same  the  sudden  and  severe  change  from 
a  soft  life  found  some  weak  places  in  Private  Hollis. 

How  he  stuck  it  he  hardly  knew.  Many  a  time  in 
those  trying  early  weeks  he  was  sorely  tempted  to 
go  sick  with  "a  pain  in  his  hair."  But  ever  at  the  back 
of  his  mind  hovered  the  august  shade  of  Troop  Ser- 
geant Major  William  Hollis,  the  distinguished  kins- 
man who  had  fought  at  Waterloo,  whose  spurs  and 

107 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

sword  hung  in  the  little  back  sitting  room  of  Number 
Five,  Love  Lane;  and  that  old  warrior  simply  would 
not  countenance  any  such  proceeding.  Therefore, 
Christmas  week  arrived  without  Private  Hollis  hav- 
ing missed  a  single  parade.  Although  not  one  of  the 
bright  boys  of  the  Battalion,  he  was  not  looked  upon 
unfavorably,  and  on  Christmas  Eve,  about  four 
o'clock,  he  returned  to  his  home  from  the  neighboring 
town  of  Duckingfield. 

His  home  in  the  course  of  the  sixteen  years  he  had 
lived  in  it  had  brought  him  precious  little  in  the  way 
of  happiness.  More  than  once  he  had  wondered  if- 
ever  he  would  be  man  enough  to  break  its  sinister 
thrall;  more  than  once  he  had  wished  to  end  the  ever- 
growing aversion  of  man  and  wife  by  doing  some- 
thing violent.  He  had  really  grown  to  hate  the  place. 
And  yet  after  an  absence  of  less  than  three  months  he 
was  returning  to  it  with  a  thankfulness  that  was  sur- 
prising. 

All  the  same  he  was  not  sure  how  Melia  would  re- 
ceive him.  When  at  last  he  had  made  the  great  de- 
cision and  had  told  her  that  he  was  going  to  join  up 
he  had  said  she  must  either  carry  on  the  business  in 
his  absence,  or  that  it  could  be  wound  up  and  she  must 
be  content  with  the  separation  allowance.  Her  an- 
swer had  been  a  gibe.  However,  she  proposed  to 
carry  on  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  W.  Hollis  Fruiterer 
as  a  means  of  livelihood  was  likely  to  prove  a  stone 
about  her  neck.  Still  there  was  a  pretty  strong  vein 

1 08 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

of  independence  in  her  and  if  she  could  keep  afloat  by 
her  own  exertions  she  meant  to  do  so. 

During  his  three  months'  absence  in  camp  their  cor- 
respondence had  been  meager ;  it  had  also  been  formal, 
not  to  say  cold.  The  estrangement  into  which  they 
had  drifted  was  so  wide  that  even  the  step  he  had 
recently  taken  could  not  bridge  it.  He  had  told  her 
on  a  picture  postcard  with  a  view  of  Duckingfield 
Parish  Church  that  he  was  quite  well  and  he  hoped 
that  she  was  and  that  things  were  going  on  all  right ; 
and  with  a  view  of  the  Market  Place  she  replied  that 
she  was  glad  to  know  that  he  was  quite  well  as  it  left 
her  at  present.  However,  he  was  careful  to  supple- 
ment this  marital  politeness  with  a  few  words  every 
Saturday  when  he  sent  her  five  shillings,  all  he  could 
spare  of  his  pay.  The  money  was  always  acknowl- 
edged briefly  and  coldly.  No  clew  was  given  to  her 
feelings,  or  to  her  affairs,  but  when  he  told  her  he 
was  coming  home  at  Christmas  for  two  days  she 
wrote  to  say  that  she  would  be  pleased  to  see  him. 

As  he  stepped  off  the  tram  into  the  raw  Black- 
hampton  mirk  which  awaited  him  at  the  end  of  Love 
Lane  that  formal  phrase  came  rather  oddly  into  his 
mind.  It  gave  him  a  sort  of  consolation  to  reflect  that 
Melia  was  one  who  said  what  she  meant  and  meant 
what  she  said.  But,  whether  or  not  she  would  be 
pleased  to  see  him  at  the  present  moment,  he  was  gen- 
uinely pleased  to  be  seeing  her. 

It  was  strange  that  it  should  be  so.  But  Melia  with 
109 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

all  her  grim  humors  stood  for  freedom,  a  life  of  phys- 
ical ease  and  cushioned  independence,  and  this  was 
what  a  slack  fibered  man  of  one  and  forty  simply 
longed  for  after  three  months'  "grueling."  For  a  man 
past  his  physical  best,  of  slothful  habits  and  civilian 
softness,  the  hard  training  had  not  been  child's  play. 
Besides,  his  home  meant  something.  It  always  had 
meant  something.  That  was  why  in  the  face  of  many 
difficulties  he  had  struggled  in  his  spasmodic  way  to 
keep  it  together.  It  had  seemed  to  give  him  no  plea- 
sure, it  had  seemed  to  bring  nothing  into  his  life,  but 
somehow  he  had  felt  that  if  once  he  let  go  of  it,  as 
far  as  he  was  concerned  it  would  mean  the  end  of  all 
things.  He  would  simply  fall  to  pieces.  He  would 
sink  into  the  gutter  and  he  would  never  be  able  to 
rise  again. 

Getting  off  the  tram  at  the  end  of  Love  Lane  he  felt 
a  sensation  that  was  almost  pride  to  think  that  he  had 
a  place  of  his  own  to  come  home  to.  After  all  it  stood 
for  sixteen  years  of  life  and  struggle.  And  at  that 
moment  he  was  particularly  glad  that  he  had  sent  that 
five  shillings  a  week  regularly.  Unless  he  had  done 
so  he  would  not  now  have  been  able  to  go  and  face 
Melia. 

There  was  not  much  light  in  the  little  street,  but 
it  was  not  yet  quite  dark.  And  the  first  sight  of  his 
home  gave  him  a  shock.  The  outside  of  the  shop  had 
changed  completely.  Not  only  was  the  signboard  and 
the  rest  of  the  woodwork  resplendent  with  new  paint, 

no 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

but  the  window  was  more  than  twice  the  size  it  had 
been.  Moreover  it  was  brilliantly  lighted;  there  was 
a  fine  display  of  apples,  oranges-,  prunes,  nuts,  even 
boxes  of  candied  fruits  and  bonbons ;  and  in  the  center 
of  this  amazing  picture  was  a  large  Christmas  tree, 
artfully  decorated,  in  a  pot  covered  with  pink  paper. 

William  Hollis  gave  a  gasp.  And  then  a  slow  chill 
spread  over  him  as  he  realized  the  truth.  Somebody 
had  taken  over  the  business,  somebody  with  capital, 
brains,  business  experience.  But  that  being  the  case 
why  had  Melia  kept  it  all  so  dark?  And  why,  if  the 
business  belonged  to  somebody  else,  was  his  name 
still  on  the  signboard  ?  And  why  had  it  had  that  new 
coat  of  paint? 

The  sheer  unexpectedness  struck  him  internally,  as 
if  a  bucket  of  water  had  been  dashed  in  his  face.  It 
was  the  worst  set-back  he  had  ever  had  in  his  life. 
Not  until  that  moment  did  he  realize  how  much  the 
shop  meant  to  him.  He  was  bitterly  angry  that  such 
a  trick  had  been  played.  It  showed,  as  hardly  any- 
thing else  could  have  done,  the  depth  of  Melia's  ven- 
om; it  showed  to  what  a  point  she  was  prepared  to 
carry  her  resentment. 

It  took  him  a  minute  to  pull  himself  together,  and 
then  he  walked  into  the  shop,  not  defiantly,  not  an- 
grily, but  with  a  sense  of  outrage.  There  was  nobody 
in  it,  but,  as  he  cast  round  one  indignant  glance  at  its 
new  and  guilty  grandeur  and  then  crossed  heavily  to 

in 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

the  curtained  door,  he  held  himself  ready  to  meet  the 
new  proprietor. 

Beyond  that  mysterious  portal  the  small  living  room 
was  very  spick  and  span.  Almost  to  his  surprise  he 
found  Melia  there.  She  matched  the  room  in  appear- 
ance and  at  the  moment  he  came  in  she  was  putting  a 
log  of  wood  on  the  fire.  Great  Uncle  William's  sword 
and  accouterments,  hanging  from  the  wall,  were  deco- 
rated with  holly,  the  pictures  also  and  a  new  grocer's 
almanac,  and  a  small  bunch  of  mistletoe  was  sus- 
pended from  the  gas  bracket  in  the  middle  of  the 
ceiling.  Everything  was  far  more  cheerful  and  home- 
like than  he  ever  remembered  to  have  seen  it.  The 
note  of  Christmas  was  there,  which  in  itself  meant 
welcome  and  good  cheer. 

He  stood  at  the  threshold  of  the  curtained  door,  a 
neat  soldierlike  figure  with  a  chastened  mustache, 
looking  wonderfully  trim  and  erect  in  his  uniform. 
She  greeted  him  with  a  kind  of  half  smile  on  her  hard 
sad  face,  but  he  didn't  offer  to  kiss  her.  Not  for  long 
years  had  they  been  on  those  terms;  they  were  man 
and  wife  in  hardly  more  than  name.  And  if  in  his 
absence,  as  there  was  reason  to  suspect,  she  had  played 
him  a  trick  in  revenge  for  her  years  of  disappointment, 
he  somehow  felt  man  enough  at  that  moment  to  make 
an  end  of  things  altogether  so  far  as  she  was  con- 
cerned. There  were  faults  on  both  sides,  no  doubt. 
Perhaps  he  hadn't  quite  played  jannock;  but  if  the 
business  now  belonged  to  somebody  else,  he  would 

112 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

simply  walk  straight  out  of  the  place  and  he  would 
never  enter  it  again. 

She  stood  looking  at  him,  as  if  she  expected  him  to 
speak  first.  But  he  didn't  know  what  to  say  to  her, 
with  that  doubt  in  his  mind.  Braced  by  the  stern 
discipline  which  he  felt  already  had  made  him  so 
much  more  a  man  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life,  he 
had  come  home  fully  prepared  to  make  a  fresh  start. 
In  spite  of  her  embittered  temper,  he  had  not  lost  quite 
all  his  affection  for  her.  He  was  the  kind  of  man  who 
craves  for  affection;  absence  and  hardship  had  made 
him  realize  that.  He  had  looked  forward  to  this 
homecoming,  not  merely  as  a  relief  from  the  grind  of 
military  routine,  which  galled  him  at  times  so  that 
he  could  hardly  bear  it,  but  as  an  assertion  of  the 
manhood,  of  the  husbandhood,  that  had  long  been 
overdue. 

"Evenin',  Melia,"  he  said  at  last. 

"Evenin',  Bill,"  as  she  spoke  she  dropped  her  eyes. 

"Happy  Christmas  to  you."  Somehow  his  voice 
sounded  much  deeper  than  ever  before. 

"Same  to  you,  Bill."  There  was  almost  a  softness 
in  the  fall  of  the  words  that  took  his  mind  a  long  way 
back. 

"How  goes  it?"  Her  reception  was  thawing  him  a 
little  in  spite  of  himself,  but  he  hesitated  about  taking 
off  his  overcoat.  If  this  fair  seeming  was  intended 
to  mask  a  blow  there  was  only  one  way  to  meet  it. 
There  was  a  pause  and  then  he  took  the  plunge.  "Busi- 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

ness  good?"  He  held  himself  ready  for  the  conse- 
quences. 

"Pretty  fair."    The  tone  told  nothing. 

"Seems  to  be  that,"  he  said  mordantly.  "Had  a 
coat  o'  paint,  I  see,  outside."  He  steeled  himself 
again.  "Had  a  new  window  put  in  an'  all." 

She  nodded. 

"How  did  you  manage  it?"    Again  the  plunge. 

"Got  a  new  landlord." 

Ha !  they  were  coming  to  it  now.  He  held  himself 
tensely.  "Old  Whatmore  gone  up  the  spout  or  some- 
thing?" He  remembered  that  some  time  back  there 
had  been  rumors  of  an  impending  bankruptcy  on  the 
part  of  Whatmore  the  builder. 

"No,  Whatmore's  all  right,  but  he's  sold  this  shop 
and  the  whole  row  with  it." 

"Sold  it,  eh?"  His  excitement  was  so  great  that 
in  spite  of  a  cool  military  air  it  was  impossible  to  dis- 
guise it.  All  the  same  she  waited  for  him  to  ask  the 
all-important  question,  but  he  was  slow  to  do  so. 

"Who's  bought  it?"  he  said  at  last. 

"Father's  bought  it."  She  did  her  best  to  speak 
quite  casually,  but  she  didn't  succeed. 


XX 


IT  was  a  knife.  Yet  it  had  not  dealt  exactly  the 
kind  of  blow  that  he  had  looked  for.  Even  if  the 
stab  was  softer,  and  of  that  at  the  moment  he  was 
not  quite  sure,  undoubtedly  there  was  poison  in  the 
wound.  In  a  flash  he  saw  that,  somehow,  it  had 
strengthened  her  position  and  weakened  his.  "You 
never  told  me  he'd  bought  the  business."  The  tone 
was  a  confession  of  impotence. 

"He  hasn't  bought  it." 

But,  in  face  of  the  facts,  the  fine  exterior  and  the 
large  and  expensive  stock  this  was  a  quibble  and  it  was 
too  palpable.  "How  did  you  come  by  all  that  stuff 
in  the  window  then?" 

"He's  helping  me  to  run  it." 

"Helping  you  to  run  it!"  His  face  was  a  picture 
of  simple  incredulity. 

"He  paid  up  all  we  owed  so  that  we  could  start 
fair.  And  he  looks  in  every  Monday  morning  and 
tells  me  what  to  buy  and  where  to  buy  it." 

"Does  he  pay  for  it?" 

"He  does."  There  was  something  like  pride  in  her 
voice.  "He  pays  cash.  And  I  have  to  keep  books — 
like  I  used  to  at  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  Of  course 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

he's  only  lending  the  money.  I  pay  him  back  at  the 
end  of  the  month  when  I  balance  the  accounts." 

He  was  dum founded  by  this  precise  statement.  The 
hand  of  his  mean,  narrow  father-in-law  was  not  recog- 
nizable. Somehow  it  seemed  to  alter  everything,  but 
not  at  once  was  he  able  to  turn  his  mind  to  the  new 
and  unexpected  situation. 

One  thing  was  clear,  however;  it  would  be  vain  to 
resent  Josiah's  interference.  He  had  bought  the  prop- 
erty over  their  heads  and  he  could  do  what  he  liked 
with  his  own.  Again  Melia  had  been  left  in  debt  and 
her  husband  knew  well  enough  that  unless  some  spe- 
cial providence  had  intervened  she  might  not  have  been 
able  to  carry  on.  Exactly  why  Josiah  had  done  as  he 
had  done  neither  his  daughter  nor  his  son-in-law  could 
fathom.  They  hated  to  receive  these  belated  favors, 
yet  as  things  were  there  was  no  way  of  escaping  them. 

A  little  reluctantly,  yet  with  a  feeling  of  intense  re- 
lief, Bill  took  off  his  good  khaki  overcoat  and  hung  it 
on  the  nail  provided  for  the  purpose  on  the  curtained 
door.  Melia  toasted  a  pikelet  at  the  clear  fire,  buttered 
it  richly,  set  it  in  a  dish  in  the  fender  to  keep  warm ; 
then  the  kettle  began  to  boil  and  she  brewed  the  tea. 

As  she  did  all  this  Bill  noticed  that  there  was  a  new 
air  of  alertness,  of  competence  about  her;  there  was  a 
light  in  her  eyes,  a  decision  in  her  actions ;  she  seemed 
to  have  more  interest  in  life.  And  for  himself,  as  he 
sat  at  the  table  with  its  clean  cloth  and  shining  knives 
and  spoons  and  bright  sugar  bowl  and  she  handed  him 

116 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

his  tea  just  as  he  liked  it,  with  one  lump  of  sugar  and 
not  too  much  milk,  he  felt  something  changing  in  him 
suddenly.  In  a  way  of  speaking  it  was  a  kind  of  re- 
birth. 

They  didn't  talk  much.  Melia  was  not  a  talking 
sort,  nor  was  he  except  when  he  had  "had  a  drop,"  and 
he  didn't  get  "drops"  now.  Besides,  in  any  case, 
the  army  seemed  to  have  taken  anything  superfluous 
in  the  way  of  talk  out  of  him,  as  it  did  with  most. 
But  he  was  honestly  glad  to  be  back  in  the  peaceful 
four  walls  of  his  home.  And  it  was  not  certain,  al- 
though Melia  carefully  refrained  from  hinting  as 
much,  that  she  was  not  honestly  glad  to  see  him  there. 
At  all  events  she  got  his  slippers  for  him  presently 
out  of  the  boot  cupboard ;  and  then,  unasked,  she  made 
a  spill  of  paper  for  him  and  laid  it  on  the  table  by 
his  elbow,  a  sufficient  intimation  that  he  was  expected 
to  light  his  pipe. 


XXI 

THEY  went  to  bed  at  a  quarter  to  ten.  For  a  time 
they  talked  and  then  Bill  fell  asleep.  And  he 
slept  as  perhaps  he  had  never  slept  in  that  room  in  all 
the  years  of  their  married  life.  How  good  the  old 
four-poster  seemed!  It  was  a  family  heirloom  in 
which  he  had  been  born  forty-one  and  a  half  years 
ago.  Many  a  miserable,  almost  intolerable  night  had 
he  passed  in  it,  but  this  Christmas  Eve  in  the  course 
of  ten  minutes  or  so  it  was  giving  him  one  of  the  best 
sleeps  he  had  ever  known. 

He  woke  in  pitch  darkness.  Melia  was  breathing 
placidly  and  regularly  by  his  side.  He  didn't  venture 
to  move  lest  he  should  disturb  her,  and  he  lay  motion- 
less but  strangely  comfortable;  somehow  it  had  never 
given  him  such  exquisite  pleasure  to  lie  in  that  old 
bed. 

Everything  was  very  still ;  there  was  none  of  the  in- 
tolerable fuss  and  clatter  of  barrack  life  at  all  hours 
of  the  day  and  night.  It  was  so  peaceful  that  he  was 
just  about  to  doze  again  when  a  distant  clock  began 
to  strike.  It  was  the  familiar  clock  of  Saint  George's 
Church,  along  Mulcaster  Road,  a  hundred  yards  or  so 
away,  and  it  told  the  hour  of  seven. 

Two  or  three  minutes  later  bells  began  to  ring.  It 

118 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

was  Christmas  morning;  they  were  proclaiming  peace 
on  earth  and  good  will  towards  men.  How  rum  they 
sounded !  Yet  as  he  lay  motionless  in  that  bed,  with 
a  slow  succession  of  deeply  harmonious  breaths  near 
by,  he  wished  harm  to  no  man,  not  even  to  the  Boche. 
Peace  on  earth  and  good  will  towards  men  .  .  .  yes, 
and  women!  Then  it  was,  just  in  that  pulse  of  time, 
the  inspiration  came  to  him  to  make  Christmas  morn- 
ing memorable. 

The  idea  was  very  simple.  He  would  steal  out  of 
bed  without  harm  to  the  slumbers  of  Melia,  slip  on 
his  clothes  in  the  dark,  go  downstairs,  light  the  kitchen 
fire,  boil  the  kettle  and  presently  bring  her  a  cup  of 
tea.  Never  before  had  it  occurred  to  him  to  pay  her 
such  a  delicate  attention,  but  this  morning  he  ap- 
peared to  have  a  new  mind  and  a  new  heart;  some- 
how, this  morning  he  was  seeing  things  with  other 
eyes. 

Without  disturbing  her  he  was  able  to  carry  out 
his  plan.  But  twenty  minutes  later  when  he  returned 
to  the  room  with  a  cup  of  tea  on  a  small  tray,  Melia 
was  awake  and  wondering  what  the  time  was. 

"Needn't  get  up  yet,"  he  said.  "I've  lit  the  fire. 
Happy  Christmas  to  you!"  Then  he  handed  her  the 
tea. 

She  seemed  much  surprised  and  just  for  a  moment 
a  little  embarrassed.  But  she  drank  the  tea  grate- 
fully, yet  wondering  all  the  time  what  had  made  him 
bring  it  to  her.  Then  she  announced  her  intention 

119 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

of  getting  up,  but  he  bade  her  lie  quiet  as  it  was  Christ- 
mas morning  and  he  was  well  able  to  cook  the  break- 
fast. 

Quite  a  pretty  passage  of  arms  developed  between 
them  on  the  subject,  but  in  the  end  she  prevailed  in 
spite  of  his  protests,  and  came  downstairs  to  deal  in 
person  with  the  vital  matter  of  the  bacon  and  eggs. 

Somehow  their  half  playful  contention  made  a  good 
beginning  to  the  day.  And,  take  it  altogether,  it  was 
quite  the  best  they  had  ever  known  in  that  ill-starred 
house.  There  had  been  times  when  week  had  followed 
week  of  such  hostility  that  they  had  hardly  exchanged 
a  look  or  a  word,  times  in  fact  of  soul-destroying  an- 
tipathy in  which  they  almost  loathed  the  sight  of  one 
another.  But  there  was  nothing  of  that  now.  So 
much  had  happened  in  three  short  months  of  separa- 
tion that  there  were  a  hundred  things  to  talk  about; 
both  of  them  seemed  to  be  living  in  a  different  world. 

Their  outlook  on  life  had  altered.  Everything  they 
did  now  had  a  purpose,  a  meaning ;  it  was  not  merely 
a  question  of  getting  through  a  day  that  had  neither 
reason  nor  rhyme.  He  was  a  soldier  in  a  uniform, 
he  felt  and  looked  a  man  in  it,  he  stood  for  something. 
She  was  proud,  in  a  way  she  had  never  been  proud, 
of  having  a  husband  in  the  army.  It  was  her  duty 
and  her  privilege  to  keep  his  home  together  against 
his  return  to  civil  life. 

Soon  after  breakfast  they  were  visited  by  a  second 
inspiration,  but  this  time  it  came  to  Melia.  Suppose 

1 20 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

they  attended  the  eleven  o'clock  service  at  Saint 
George's  Church?  In  their  early  married  life  they 
had  gone  there  together  once  or  twice,  but  for  many 
years  now  when  Melia  went  there  on  Sunday  eve- 
nings she  had  invariably  been  alone. 

It  may  have  been  a  desire  to  let  the  neighbors  see 
how  well  his  khaki  suited  him,  or  life  in  the  army 
had  aroused  an  odd  craving  for  religion,  or  perhaps  it 
was  simply  a  wish  to  give  pleasure  to  Melia;  at  any 
rate  Bill  fell  in  with  the  idea.  She  had  just  time  to 
arrange  with  the  lady  next  door,  Mrs.  Griggs  by  name, 
who  had  once  been  a  cook  in  good  service,  to  give  an 
eye  to  the  turkey  which  was  set  cooking  in  the  oven, 
then  to  put  on  her  best  dress,  not  much  of  a  best,  it 
was  true,  but  to  have  gone  to  church  in  any  other 
would  have  been  unthinkable,  to  put  on  her  only  de- 
cent hat  and  a  sorely  mended  pair  of  black  cotton 
gloves,  and  to  get  there  on  the  stroke  of  eleven,  just 
as  the  bells  ceased  and  the  choir  were  moving  down 
to  their  stalls.  Melia,  at  any  rate,  had  seldom  enjoyed 
a  service  so  much  as  this  one,  and  her  friend  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Bontine,  who  called  to  see  her  regularly 
once  a  quarter,  preached  the  finest  sermon  she  had 
ever  heard  in  the  course  of  long  years  of  worship. 

For  all  that,  it  was  not  certain  that  Private  Hollis 
was  not  bored  a  little  by  the  Reverend  Mr.  Bontine. 
He  could  not  help  a  yawn  in  the  middle  of  the  homily, 
but  this  may  have  been  a  concession  to  his  length  of 
days  as  a  civilian  when  "he  didn't  hold  with  persons," 

121 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

but  as  Melia  was  too  much  absorbed  to  notice  him,  her 
sense  of  a  manly  and  fruitful  discourse  was  not 
marred;  and  she  was  able  to  enjoy  the  same  happy 
oblivion  of  martial  restiveness  during  the  long  prayer. 
Taking  one  consideration  with  another  Private  Hollis 
may  be  said  to  have  borne  extremely  well  an  ordeal 
to  which  he  had  not  submitted  for  many  years;  and 
at  the  end  of  the  service  as  he  came  out  of  church 
he  grew  alive  to  the  fact  that  in  the  sight  of  the  con- 
gregation he  was  a  person  of  far  more  consequence 
than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  life. 

More  than  one  pair  of  eyes,  once  hostile  or  aloof, 
were  upon  him  and  also  upon  MeHa.  People  looked 
at  him  as  if  they  would  have  been  only  too  proud  to 
know  him,  substantial  people  like  Wilmers,  the  in- 
surance agent,  and  Jenkinson  the  tailor;  but  the  cli- 
max came  as  he  stepped  on  to  the  flags  of  Mulcaster 
Road  and  no  less  a  man  than  Mr.  Blades,  the  druggist 
of  Waterloo  Square,  took  off  his  tall  hat  to  Melia  and 
said,  "Happy  Christmas  to  you,  Mr.  Hollis." 

A  year  ago  that  was  an  incident  that  simply  could 
not  have  happened.  But  after  all  it  was  just  one 
among  many.  He  was  an  equal  now  with  the  best  of 
his  neighbors,  no  matter  what  their  substance  and 
standing.  He  was  a  man  who  counted.  In  the  Black- 
hampton  Battalion  he  was  merely  Private  Hollis,  and 
not  much  of  a  private  at  that,  as  many  loud  voiced 
and  authoritative  people  made  a  point  of  telling  him, 

122 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

but  in  civilian  circles  apparently  the  outlook  was  dif- 
ferent. 

When  they  turned  into  Love  Lane  they  were  met  by 
further  evidence  of  the  new  status  of  W.  Hollis  Fruit- 
erer. A  flaming-haired  youth  in  a  green  baize  apron 
had  been  knocking  in  vain  on  the  shuttered  door  of  the 
shop.  There  was  a  parcel  in  his  hand  whose  shape 
was  familiar  but  not  on  that  account  the  less  in- 
triguing. 

"Mester  Munt's  compliments — sir."  It  was  against 
the  tradition  of  the  green  baize  apron  to  indulge  the 
general  public  with  promiscuous  "sirs,"  but,  in  hand- 
ing ceremoniously  the  parcel  to  Private  Hollis,  democ- 
racy in  its  purest  form  deferred  a  little  to  his  martial 
aspect. 

Bill  never  felt  less  in  need  of  his  father-in-law's 
compliments  than  at  that  moment,  but  the  abrupt  de- 
parture of  George  the  Barman  somehow  forced  them, 
upon  him.  All  the  same,  as  Private  Hollis  fitted  the 
key  into  the  shop  door  he  wondered  what  the  Old 
Swine  was  up  to  now. 

Divested  of  its  trappings  on  the  sitting-room  table 
the  parcel  turned  out  to  be  a  handsome  bottle  of  port 
wine.  It  would  not  have  been  human  for  William 
Hollis  to  remain  impervious  to  this  largesse  from  the 
famous  cellar  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  And  he 
knew  by  the  screen  of  cobwebs  that  it  was  out  of  the 
sacred  corner  bin. 

Bill  was  puzzled.  What  had  come  over  the  Old 
123 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Pig !  However  .  .  .  With  the  care  of  one  who  knew 
the  worth  of  what  he  handled  he  put  the  royal  vis- 
itor in  the  cupboard,  among  plebeian  bottles  of  stout 
and  beer,  and  then  proceeded,  chuckling  rather  grimly 
at  certain  thoughts,  to  help  Melia  "set  the  dinner." 

It  was  a  modest  feast,  but  when  in  the  course  of 
time  he  sat  down  to  carve  a  roast  turkey,  a  plump  and 
proper  young  bird,  flanked  with  sausages  and  chest- 
nuts, he  informed  Melia  "that  he  wouldn't  give  a  thank 
you  to  dine  with  the  King  of  England."  She  could 
not  help  smiling  at  this  disloyal  utterance,  which  so 
ill  became  his  uniform,  as  she  freely  ladled  out  bread 
sauce,  that  purely  Anglo-Saxon  dainty,  for  which  his 
affection  amounted  almost  to  a  passion,  and  helped 
him  hugely  to  potatoes  and  Brussels  sprouts,  so  that 
it  should  be  no  fault  of  hers  if  he  was  unable  to  plead 
provocation  for  his  lapse.  Plum  pudding  followed. 
It  was  of  the  regulation  Blackhampton  pattern  and 
Melia,  no  mean  cook  when  she  gave  her  mind  to  it, 
had  given  her  mind  to  this  one,  so  that  it  expressed 
her  genius  and  the  festive  genius  of  her  native  city 
in  a  hearty  time  of  cheer. 

At  the  end  of  the  meal,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he 
was  told  rather  sternly  "to  set  quiet,"  he  insisted  like 
a  soldier  and  a  sportsman  in  helping  to  clear  the  table 
and  in  bearing  a  manly  but  subordinate  part  in  the 
washing  up.  And  when  the  table  had  once  more  as- 
sumed the  impersonal  re4  cloth  of  its  hours  of  leisure, 
a  couple  of  wine  gla"«s(3$  were  produced,  which,  al- 

124 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

though  polished  twice  a  week,  had  not  seen  active 
service  for  fifteen  years,  and  then  William  drew  the 
cork  of  the  cobwebbed  bottle. 

"Not  a  drop  for  me,  Bill." 

"You've  got  to  have  it,  Mother." 

"No,  Bill." 

"Yes.  Fairation!"  He  gave  one  deep  sniff  at  the 
glass  he  had  measured  already  with  a  care  half  rev- 
erent, half  comic.  "By  Gum,  it's  prime."  In  spite  of 
protests  he  poured  out  another  glass.  "Fairation! 
Better  drink  the  health,  eh,  of  the  Old  Un  as  it's 
Christmas  Day." 

They  honored  the  Old  Un  discreetly,  in  a  modest 
sip  of  a  wine  which  of  itself  could  not  have  denied 
him  a  claim  to  honor,  and  then  with  equal  modesty 
they  drank  to  each  other. 

Melia  then  had  an  inspiration,  though  not  subject  to 
them  as  a  rule,  and  due  in  this  case,  no  doubt,  to  the 
juice  of  the  grape.  She  procured  a  plate  full  of  wal- 
nuts from  beyond  the  curtained  door  and  they  en- 
tered on  a  further  phase  of  discreet  festivity.  Bill 
insisted  on  cracking  three  nuts  and  peeling  them  for 
her  with  his  own  delicately  accomplished  fingers;  and 
in  the  process  he  complimented  her  on  the  Christmas 
fare  and  hoped  piously  that  "the  Chaps  had  had  half 
as  good." 

Mention  of  the  Chaps  moved  him  for  the  first  time 
to  reminiscence.  As  was  to  be  expected,  the  Black*- 
hampton  Battalion  was  one  of  the  wonders  of  the 

125 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

world.  To  begin  with,  its  members  were  nearly  all 
gentlemen.  All  the  nobs  of  the  town  under  forty  were 
tommies  in  the  B.B.  It  was  very  remarkable  that  it 
should  be  so,  but  there  the  fact  was.  And  it  made 
men  of  his  sort  who  liked  to  think  a  bit  when  they 
had  the  time  to  spare  feel  regular  democratic  when 
they  saw  real  toffs  like  Lawyer  Mossop's  nephew, 
Marling  the  barrister,  carting  manure,  or  the  son  of 
Sir  Reuben  Jope  on  his  knees  scrubbing  the  floor  of 
the  sergeants'  mess. 

To  mix  in  such  company  was  a  rare  opportunity 
for  a  man  who  knew  how  to  use  it.  Melia  had  noted 
already  that  Bill  had  learned  to  express  himself  better, 
that  his  conversation  was  at  a  higher  level  and  that 
it  was  full  of  new  ideas.  And  these  facts  were  never 
so  palpable  as  when,  slowly  and  solemnly,  a  furtive 
light  of  humor  in  his  blue  eyes,  he  went  on  to  tell  of 
his  great  Bloomer. 

It  seemed  that  the  cubicle  next  to  his  was  occupied 
by  a  man  named  Stanning,  and  he  had  got  to  be  rather 
pals  with  him.  Stanning  was  a  serious  sort  of  cove 
with  hair  turning  gray  at  the  temples,  but  Private 
Hollis  had  been  attracted  to  him  because  he  was  one 
of  the  right  sort  and  because  it  was  clear  from  his  talk 
that  he  had  thought  and  seen  a  bit.  He  was  a  good 
kind  of  man  to  talk  to,  a  sympathetic  sort  of  card, 
one  of  those  who  made  you  feel  that  you  had  things 
in  common. 

Private  Hollis  gradually  got  so  "thick"  with  Private 
126 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Stanning  that  they  began  to  discuss  things  in  an  in- 
tellectual way,  politics  one  time,  education  another, 
so  on  and  so  on,  until  one  evening  they  found  them- 
selves talking  of  Art.  As  Melia  knew,  Private  Hollis 
had  a  feeling  for  Art.  Many  an  hour  had  he  spent  in 
the  City  Museum,  looking  at  its  collection  of  famous 
pictures;  and  he  told  Private  Stanning  of  the  water 
color  he  had  done  of  the  Sharrow  at  Corfield  Weir, 
inspired  by  the  great  work  on  the  same  subject  of  his 
celebrated  namesake  Stanning,  R.A.,  which  had  been 
bought  by  the  City  Authorities  for  the  fabulous  sum 
of  a  thousand  guineas.  .  .  . 

Over  the  walnuts  and  the  wine  Private  Hollis  began 
to  chuckle  hugely  as  his  great  Bloomer  came  back  to 
his  mind  in  all  its  entrancing  details.  .  .  . 

P.  H.  When  I  first  see  the  price  mentioned  in  the 
Evening  Star  I  says  to  my  Missus  that's  the  way  they 
chuck  public  money  about.  No  picture  was  never 
painted,  not  a  Hangelo  nor  even  a  Lord  Leighton  that 
was  ever  worth  a  thousand  guineas.  It's  a  fancy 
price. 

P.  S.  'Tis  in  a  way.  A  matter  of  sentiment,  I 
suppose. 

P.  H.  Just  what  I  said  to  the  Missus.  However, 
being  a  bit  of  a  critic  I  went  to  examine  that  picture 
for  myself.  And  would  you  believe  it,  Stanning — 
I'm  not  saying  this  to  flatter  you  because  the  chap  who 
done  it  has  the  same  name  as  yours — when  I  see  that 
picture  it  fair  knocked  me  endways.  You  see  I  know 

127 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

every  yard  of  Corfield  Weir;  in  my  time  I've  had 
more  than  one  good  fish  out  of  it ;  and  as  soon  as  I  set 
eyes  on  it,  I  said  to  myself,  "Stanning  R.A.'s  a  fisher- 
man. He's  chosen  one  of  them  gray  days  that's  good 
for  barbel."  I  give  you  my  word,  he'd  got  just  the 
proper  light  coming  out  of  the  valley  and  stealing 
along  the  Sharrow.  Only  an  artist  and  a  fisherman 
could  have  done  it. 

P.  S.     Did  you  ever  get  bream  there? 

P.  H.  I  should  say  so.  And  I've  had  trout  in  my 
time. 

P.  S.     Trout? 

P.  H.  I'm  talking  of  twenty  years  back.  But  to 
resume.  I  see  at  a  glance  why  the  City  Authorities 
had  paid  a  thousand  guineas  for  that  picture.  It  was 
not  because  Stanning,  R.A.,  was  a  local  man;  it  was 
pure  merit  and  I  felt  very  glad  it  was  so. 

P.  S.     Glad  you  thought  so. 

P.  H.  You  know,  of  course,  that  Stanning,  R.A., 
is  Blackhampton  born? 

P.  S.     So  I've  heard. 

P.  H.  Born  in  that  old  house  with  the  high-walled 
garden  along  Blue  Bell  Hill  that  was  pulled  down  to 
widen  the  road. 

P.  S.     That  so? 

P.  H.  By  the  way,  Stanning,  is  he  a  relation  of 
yours?  Of  course,  it's  a  very  common  name  in  the 
City. 

P.  S.     Ye — es,  I  suppose  he  is  in  a  way. 
128 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

P.  H.  That's  something  to  be  proud  of.  I'm  not 
saying  it  to  flatter  you,  but  at  this  minute  I'd  rather 
be  Stanning,  R.A.,  than  any  one  else  in  the  wide  world. 

Private  Stanning  laughed  like  a  good  one. 

P.  H.  Honest.  I'm  not  talking  out  of  the  back  of 
my  neck.  Stanning,  R.A.,  for  me.  You  can  have  all 
my  share  of  the  Kitcheners  and  the  Joffres  and  the 
von  Klucks.  If  I  could  be  born  again  and  born  some- 
body as  mattered  I'd  like  to  be  Stanning,  R.A.  Why, 
what  the  hell  are  you  grinning  at  ? 

P.  S.  That's  rheumatism.  And  if  you'll  only  take 
it  over,  old  son,  you  can  have  all  the  remainder  of 
my  interest  in  Stanning,  R.A.,  as  a  going  concern. 

P.  H.     What !  do  you  mean  to  say ! 

"I  told  you,  Mother,"  concluded  Private  Hollis  in 
his  port-wine-inspired  narrative,  "that  he  was  going 
gray  at  the  temples  And  there  he  set  like  a  himage 
at  the  foot  of  his  shakedown  all  twisted  with  rheu- 
matics, groaning  like  one  o'clock.  And  then  he  began 
to  laugh.  Queer  world,  ain't  it,  what?" 

Melia,  however,  was  one  of  those  precise  but  rather 
immobile  intellects  with  which  her  tight  little  native 
island  is  full  to  overflowing.  "You  don't  mean  to 
say,  Bill,  it  was  Stanning,  R.A.,  himself?" 

"You  bet  your  life  it  was."  Private  Hollis  handed 
a  pealed  walnut,  his  masterpiece  so  far,  across  an  ex- 
panse of  red  tablecloth.  "One  of  the  youngest  R.A.'s 
on  record,  but  a  bit  long  in  the  tooth  for  the  Army. 
And  we're  pals,  I  tell  you.  One  of  these  days  I'm 

129 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

going  to  take  him  barbel  fishing  at  Gawsey's  Pool. 
And  he's  given  me  a  couple  of  lessons  in  drawing  al- 
ready. If  only  I'd  begun  sooner  I  think  I  might  have 
done  something." 

It  was  such  an  incredible  story  that  Melia  was  fain 
to  smile,  but  Private  William  Hollis,  inspired  by  port 
wine  and  enthusiasm,  lingered  lovingly  over  his  por- 
trait of  one  who  stood  forth  in  his  mind  as  the  greatest 
man  the  city  of  Blackhampton  had  yet  produced 


XXII 

FORTY-EIGHT  hours  is  not  a  long  time  even  as 
time  is  reckoned  in  a  world  war,  when  the  infi- 
nitely much  can  happen  in  a  little  space.  Only  one- 
fourth  of  that  term,  a  meager  twelve  hours,  was  per- 
mitted to  Russia  by  Germany  in  which  to  decide 
whether  she  should  yield  unconditionally  to  an  un- 
heard of  demand,  on  pain  of  provoking  that  conflict, 
the  end  of  which  even  some  of  the  most  penetrating 
minds  in  Blackhampton  were  hardly  able  to  predict 
with  certainty.  So  much  may  happen  in  a  little  while. 
Yet  Private  Hollis  had  just  four  times  as  long  to  re- 
establish terms  of  conjugal  felicity  with  his  wife 
Melia.  In  that  period  he  kissed  her  twice. 

Whether  that  Christian  practice  would  have  con- 
tinued as  a  regular  thing  is  difficult  to  say.  This  was 
a  special  occasion  and  these  were  not  demonstrative 
natures.  Even  in  the  heyday  of  their  romance,  when 
Love  not  being  quite  strong  enough  to  turn  the  door 
handle,  peered  once  or  twice  through  the  keyhole,  yet 
without  ever  proving  quite  bold  enough  to  come  in 
and  make  himself  at  home  on  that  childless  hearth, 
they  were  too  practical  to  acquire  a  permanent  taste 
for  that  particular  kind  of  nonsense. 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Still,  it  hardly  docs  to  dogmatize  in  time  of  war. 
For  as  the  forty-eight  hours  went  on,  Melia  seemed  to 
grow  more  and  more  impressed  by  Private  Hollis,  his 
martial  bearing.  Or  it  may  have  been  the  uniform. 
Why  is  it  that  any  kind  of  uniform  has  such  a  fatal 
attraction  for  the  ladies? 

In  this  case,  at  any  rate,  it  seemed  to  make  a  re- 
markable difference.  There  is  no  doubt  it  suited  Bill. 
He  looked  so  much  more  a  man  in  it;  his  chest  was 
bigger,  his  back  was  straighter,  his  hair  was  shorter, 
his  chin  was  cleaner  and  the  ragged  mustache  that 
used  to  be  all  over  his  face  was  now  refined  to  the  ex- 
treme point  of  military  elegance.  Really  he  came 
much  nearer  to  the  ideal  of  manhood  there  had  been 
in  Melia's  mind  when  she  had  first  married  him.  Be- 
sides he  was  so  much  surer  of  himself,  his  voice  was 
deeper,  his  bearing  more  authoritative,  his  talk  was 
salted  with  infinitely  more  knowledge  and  wisdom. 

When  the  time  came  for  Private  Hollis  to  return  to 
his  regiment,  the  boy  who  delivered  the  vegetables 
was  left  in  charge  of  the  shop,  while  Melia  in  Sunday 
attire  went  to  see  her  man  off  at  the  Central  Station. 
It  was  a  compliment  he  had  hardly  looked  for;  all 
the  same  it  was  appreciated.  Somehow  it  made  a  dif- 
ference. Other  wives,  mothers,  sisters,  sweethearts 
were  thick  on  the  ground  for  a  similar  purpose,  but 
Private  Hollis  was  of  opinion  that  Melia  with  her  ser- 
ious face  and  a  figure  you  couldn't  call  stout  and  in  a 
hat  she  had  trimmed  herself  with  black  and  white 

132 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

wings  was  somehow  able  to  hold  her  own  with  the 
best  of  them. 

Moreover  they  parted  at  the  carriage  door  as  if  they 
meant  something  to  each  other  now.  It  was  a  public 
place  but  he  kissed  her  solemnly  and  she  said,  "You'll 
write  me  a  bit  oftener,  Bill,  won't  you  ?"  in  the  man- 
ner of  the  long  ago.  Then  the  train  began  to  move, 
he  waved  a  hand  and  she  waved  hers ;  and  each  trun- 
dled back  alone  to  a  hard  life  with  its  many  duties, 
yet  somehow,  in  a  subtle  way,  the  stronger  and  the 
happier  for  that  brief  interregnum. 

Life  had  altered  for  them  both  in  that  short  time. 
They  saw  each  other  with  new  eyes  or  perhaps  with 
old  eyes  reawakened.  Sixteen  years  had  rubbed  so 
much  of  the  bloom  off  their  romance  that  it  was  a 
miracle  almost  that  they  were  able  to  renew  it.  Yet 
the  delicate  process  was  only  just  beginning.  It  was 
very  odd,  but  the  trite  and  difficult  business  of  exist- 
ence was  colored  now  continually  with  new  thoughts 
about  each  other.  Neither  had  ever  been  a  great  hand 
at  writing  letters,  but  Bill  suddenly  burgeoned  forth 
into  four  closely  written  pages  weekly,  and  Melia, 
flattered  but  not  to  be  outdone,  burst  out  in  equal 
volume. 

His  letters  were  really  very  interesting  indeed  and 
so  were  hers,  although  of  course  in  an  entirely  differ- 
ent way.  She  was  kept  abreast  of  the  military  situa- 
tion and  the  latest  Service  gossip,  with  spicy  yarns 
of  the  Toffs  with  whom  he  rubbed  shoulders  as  an 

133 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

equal  in  the  B.B.,  not  omitting  the  details  of  an  ever- 
ripening  friendship  with  Private  Stanning,  who,  how- 
ever, was  soon  to  acquire  the  rank  of  a  full  corporal. 
Melia,  of  course,  had  not  the  advantage  of  this  range 
of  information  or  contiguity  to  high  affairs,  nor  did 
her  letters  sparkle  with  soldierly  flashes  of  wit  and 
audacity,  but  week  by  week  they  gave  a  conscientious 
account  of  the  state  of  the  business,  of  sales  and  pur- 
chases, of  current  prices  and  money  outstanding,  all 
in  the  manner  of  a  careful  bookeeper,  who,  now  she 
had  been  put  on  her  mettle,  was  able  and  willing  to 
show  that  the  root  of  the  matter  was  in  her. 

Bill,  in  consequence,  had  to  own  that  the  business 
in  all  its  luckless  history  had  never  been  so  flourish- 
ing. They  didn't  like  admitting  it,  but  in  their  hearts 
they  knew  that  this  new  prosperity  was  directly  due 
to  "the  damned  interference"  (military  phrase)  of  the 
august  proprietor  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  Some 
men  are  hoo-doos,  they  are  born  under  the  wrong  set 
of  planets;  whatever  they  do  or  refrain  from  doing 
turns  out  equally  unwise.  W.  Hollis  Fruiterer  had  al- 
ways been  one  of  that  kind.  If  he  bought  a  barrel 
of  Ribstone  Pippins  they  went  bad  before  he  could 
sell  them,  if  he  bought  William  pears  they  refused  to 
ripen,  if  he  bought  peas  or  runner  beans  he  would  have 
done  better  with  gooseberries  or  tomatoes;  anything 
he  stocked  in  profitable  quantities  was  bound  to  be 
left  on  his  hands.  But  the  lord  of  Strathfieldsaye  was 
another  kind  of  man  altogether.  He  simply  couldn't 

134 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

do  wrong  when  it  came  to  a  question  of  barter.  Up 
to  a  point  a  matter  of  judgment,  no  doubt,  but  "judg- 
ment" does  not  altogether  explain  it.  There  is  a  subtle 
something,  over  and  beyond  all  mundane  wisdom,  that 
confers  upon  some  men  the  Midas  touch.  Everything 
they  handle  turns  to  gold.  Josiah  Munt  was  notori- 
ously one  of  that  kind. 

Certainly  from  the  day  he  touched  the  moribund 
business  of  W.  Hollis  Fruiterer  with  his  magic  wand, 
it  took  a  remarkable  turn  for  the  better.  Mr.  Munt's 
own  explanation  of  the  phenomenon  was  that  for  the 
first  time  in  its  history  it  was  run  on  sound  business 
lines.  That  had  something  to  do  with  the  mystery  of 
course;  not  only  was  Josiah  a  man  of  method  and 
foresight,  he  was  also  a  man  of  capital.  Money  makes 
money  all  the  world  over;  and  of  that  fact  Josiah's 
ever-growing  store  was  a  shining  proof. 

Not  until  the  middle  of  the  summer  did  Bill  get 
leave  again.  And  then  there  was  a  special  reason 
for  it.  The  Battalion  had  been  ordered  to  France. 
That  was  an  epic  Saturday  evening  in  July  when  he 
came  home  with  full  kit,  brown  as  a  bean,  hard  as 
a  nail,  in  rare  fighting  trim.  Time  was  his  own  un- 
til the  Thursday  following,  when  he  had  to  go  to 
Southampton  to  join  the  Chaps. 

Martial  his  bearing  at  Christmas,  but  it  was  nothing 
to  what  it  was  now.  There  seemed  to  be  a  conscious- 
ness of  power  about  him.  For  one  thing  he  was  wear- 
ing the  stripe  of  a  lance  corporal.  Then,  too,  he  was 

135 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

a  small  man,  and,  as  biologists  know,  small  men  al- 
ways have  a  knack  of  looking  bigger  than  they  are 
really.  Physically  speaking,  great  men  are  generally 
on  the  small  side,  perhaps  for  the  reason  that  they 
have  more  vitality.  Certainly  Corporal  Hollis,  on  the 
eve  of  his  Odyssey,  looked  more  important  than  the 
neighbors  ever  thought  possible.  Poor  Melia  began 
to  wonder  if  she  would  be  able  to  live  up  to  him. 

Melia  had  never  been  to  London  and  when  Bill  pro- 
posed that  she  should  accompany  him  to  the  metrop- 
olis and  see  him  off  from  Waterloo  the  suggestion 
came  as  quite  a  shock  to  a  conservative  nature.  It 
meant  almost  as  much  as  a  journey  to  the  middle  of 
Africa  or  the  wilds  of  the  Caucasus  to  more  traveled 
people.  She  was  not  easily  fluttered ;  hers  was  a  mind 
of  the  slow-moving  sort,  but  it  was  only  after  a  night 
and  a  day,  fraught  with  grave  questionings,  that  she 
finally  consented  to  do  so. 

For  one  thing  the  shop  would  have  to  close  for 
twenty-four  hours,  at  least;  besides,  and  a  more  vital 
matter,  even  her  best  dress  was  nothing  like  fash- 
ionable enough  for  London,  the  capital  city  of  the 
empire.  Both  these  objections  were  promptly  over- 
ruled. An  obliging  neighbor — during  the  last  few 
months  the  neighbors  had  proved  wonderfully  oblig- 
ing— consented  to  take  charge  of  the  shop  in  Melia's 
absence;  while  at  the  psychological  moment  a  para- 
graph appeared  in  the  Evening  Star  saying  that  as 
the  Best  people  were  making  a  point  of  wearing  old 

136 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

clothes,  any  attempt  at  fashion  in  war  time  was  bad 
taste.  This  interesting  fact  left  so  little  for  further 
discussion  that  at  a  quarter  past  nine  on  the  morning 
of  an  ever-memorable  Wednesday  they  steamed  out 
of  Blackhampton  Central  Station,  London  bound. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  day  such  as  M-lia  had 
never  known.  Looking  back  upon  it  afterwards,  and 
she  was  to  look  back  upon  it  many  times  in  the  days 
to  follow,  she  felt  it  would  have  been  impossible  to 
surpass  it  in  sheer  human  interest.  Even  the  jour- 
ney to  such  a  place  as  London  was  thrilling  to  one 
whose  travels  by  train  had  been  confined  to  half  a 
dozen  visits  to  Duckingfield,  two  to  Matlock  Bath  and 
one  to  Blackpool  at  the  age  of  seven,  nice  places  yet 
relatively  unimportant  in  comparison  with  the  capital 
city  of  the  British  Empire. 

As  the  train  did  not  leave  for  Southampton  until 
well  on  in  the  evening  they  had  about  eight  hours  in 
which  to  see  the  sights.  And  so  much  happened  in 
those  eight  hours  that  they  made  a  landmark  in  their 
lives.  Indeed  they  began  with  so  signal  an  event  that 
the  muse  of  history  peremptorily  demands  a  past  chap- 
ter in  which  to  relate  it. 


XXIII 

AS  soon  as  he  arrived  in  the  metropolis,  Corporal 
Hollis  with  Melia  rather  nervously  gripping  his 
arm  stepped  boldly  into  the  Euston  Road  to  have  a 
look  at  London.  Almost  the  first  thing  he  saw  was 
a  Canteen,  a  token  that  at  once  reminded  him  that 
his  rifle  and  kit  were  heavy,  that  the  wife  and  he  had 
breakfasted  rather  early  and  rather  hurriedly  and  that 
nothing  at  that  moment  could  hope  to  compare  with 
a  couple  of  ham  sandwiches  and  a  cup  of  coffee. 

When  the  question  was  put  to  Melia  she  was  in- 
clined to  think  so  too,  although  far  too  bewildered 
by  the  mighty  flux  around  her  to  give  any  special 
thought  to  the  matter.  However  very  wisely,  nay 
providentially,  as  it  turned  out,  after  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation they  decided  to  cross  the  road  and  follow  the 
promptings  of  nature.  As  they  passed  through  the 
inviting  doors  of  the  Canteen  there  was  nothing  to 
tell  them  that  anything  particular  was  going  to  hap- 
pen, yet  perhaps  they  ought  to  have  remembered  that 
this  was  London  where  the  Particular  is  always  hap- 
pening. 

They  had  not  to  fight  their  way  through  a  crowd  'in 
order  to  get  in  or  anything  of  that  sort.  Nor  were 

138 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

people  walking  on  one  another's  heads  when  they  did 
get  in.  There  was  plenty  of  room  for  all.  Full  pri- 
vates were  in  the  majority,  but  the  non-commissioned 
ranks  were  also  represented,  among  whom  was  a 
Scotsman  who  had  risen  to  be  a  sergeant.  But  Cor- 
poral Hollis  appeared  to  be  the  only  warrior  who  had 
brought  his  lawful  wedded  missus.  It  was  a  breach 
of  the  rules  for  one  thing,  but  there  was  any  amount 
of  room,  and  he  managed  to  stow  her  away  in  a  quiet 
corner  where  they  could  have  a  table  to  themselves; 
and  then  he  moved  across  to  a  cubbyhole  where  a 
nice  fatherly  old  sportsman  with  side  whiskers  and 
brown  spats  relieved  him  of  his  rifle  and  kit  and  gave 
him  a  card  with  a  number  in  exchange.  Then  the 
gallant  Corporal,  a  composite  of  well-bred  diffidence 
and  martial  mien,  sauntered  up  to  the  counter  at  the 
end  of  the  room  where  a  Real  Smart  Piece  in  a  mob 
cap  and  jumper  gave  him  the  smile  interrogative. 
After  a  moment's  survey  of  the  good  things  around 
him,  he  magnificently  went  the  limit.  The  limit  was 
ninepence:  to  wit,  two  fried  eggs,  a  rasher  of  bacon, 
bread  and  butter  and  a  cup  of  tea;  in  this  case  ditto 
repeato,  once  for  himself,  once  for  Melia. 

The  Corporal  was  by  no  means  sure  that  the  R.S.P. 
would  stand  for  a  Twicer  but  she  was  one  of  the  noble 
breed  that  prefers  to  use  common  sense  rather  than 
raise  obstacles.  After  one  arch  glance  in  the  direction 
of  Melia  she  booked  the  order  without  demur. 

In  the  process  of  time  the  order  was  executed  and 
139 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

they  set  to  upon  this  second  breakfast  with  a  breadth 
of  style  which  almost  raised  it  to  the  dignity  of  lunch- 
eon. By  the  time  they  were  through  it  was  half-past 
midday  already,  and  they  were  discussing  this  fact 
and  its  bearing  on  the  general  program  when  the  great 
Event  began  to  happen. 

It  came  about  unobtrusively,  in  quite  a  casual  way. 
Neither  the  Corporal  nor  his  lady  paid  much  attention 
at  first,  but  of  a  sudden  the  nice  fatherly  old  sports- 
man who  had  relieved  the  former  of  his  rifle  and  kit 
came  out  of  his  cubbyhole  and  a  dashing  trio  of 
R.S.P.'s  emerged  from  a  mysterious  region  at  the  back 
of  beyond,  proving  thereby  that  the  counter  had  no 
monopoly  of  these  luxuries,  and  the  Scotch  sergeant 
moved  a  pace  or  two  nearer  the  door,  where  the  Lon- 
don daylight  seemed  a  bit  better  in  quality,  and  then 
Bill's  R.S.P.,  who  was  absolutely  the  pick  of  the 
bunch,  although  such  comparisons  are  invariably  as 
idle  as  they  are  to  be  deplored,  was  heard  to  use  a  word 
that  appeared  to  rhyme  with  Mother. 

Of  course  it  could  not  have  been  Bother  or  any 
word  like  it.  And  whatever  it  may  have  been,  was 
not,  at  that  moment,  as  far  as  the  Corporal  and 
his  lady  were  concerned,  of  the  slightest  importance. 
To  them  it  meant  nothing.  It  meant  less  than  noth- 
ing. For  a  startling  rumor  was  afoot.  .  .  . 

The  Queen  was  coming. 

William  was  a  military  man  and  fully  determined 
to  bear  himself  with  the  coolness  of  one  on  parade, 

140 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

out  his  air  of  stoicism  was  but  a  poor  cloak  to  his 
feelings.  As  for  Melia,  if  not  exactly  flustered,  she 
was  excited  more  than  a  little.  Still  in  this  epic  mo- 
ment it  was  a  strengthening  thought  that  she  had 
had  that  yard  and  a  half  of  new  ribbon  put  on  her 
hat 

That  was  an  instance  of  subconscious  but  pro- 
phetic foresight.  There  was  nothing  to  tell  her  that 
the  first  lady  in  the  land  would  nip  across  from  Buck- 
ingham Palace  as  soon  as  she  heard  that  Bill  was  in 
London.  It  was  hardly  to  have  been  expected.  In 
the  first  place  it  was  truly  remarkable  that  she  should 
so  soon  have  heard  of  his  arrival.  And  of  course  it 
was  by  no  means  certain  that  this  casual  and  informal 
visit  of  hers  was  inspired  by  William.  In  fact  if  you 
came  to  think  of  it 

But  there  was  really  no  time  to  weigh  the  pros  and 
the  cons  of  what  after  all  was  a  superfluous  inquiry, 
for  a  commotion  had  arisen  already  beyond  the  farther 
door.  And  even  at  this  late  moment,  and  in  spite  of 
a  general  stiffening  of  the  phalanx  of  R.S.P.'s  and 
other  details,  and  the  stately  advance  of  the  nice  old 
warrior  through  the  swing  doors  into  the  Euston 
Road,  even  then  Corporal  Hollis,  with  true  military 
skepticism,  was  not  sure  that  it  was  not  an  Oaks. 

However  the  question  was  soon  settled.  The  com- 
motion increased,  the  throng  of  important  looking 
people  surprisingly  grew,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  ap- 
peared a  lady  whom  William  and  Melia  would  have 

141 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

known  anywhere.  She  was  remarkably  like  her  por- 
traits except  that  the  reality  surpassed  them.  There 
was  a  great  deal  of  bowing  and  walking  backwards 
and  the  serried  rows  of  R.S.P.'s  made  curtsys,  and 
then  all  ranks  stood  up  and  removed  their  hats.  Wil- 
liam and  Melia  stood  up  too,  but  only  William  doffed 
his  helmet. 

It  was  the  Scotsman  who  claimed  the  first  share 
of  the  august  visitor's  notice.  Her  eye  lit  at  once  on 
this  son  of  Caledonia,  who  unconsciously,  by  sheer 
force  of  climate,  began  to  tower  above  all  the  rest, 
returning  answer  for  question  with  inimitable  cool- 
ness and  mastery.  All  the  Saxons  present  were  lost 
in  envy,  but  they  were  fain  to  acquiesce  in  the  stern 
truth  that  nature  has  made  it  impossible  to  keep  back 
a  Scotsman.  In  spite  of  top  hats  and  swallow-tails 
it  was  clear  at  a  glance  that  he  was  the  best  man 
there. 

All  the  same  the  august  visitor,  helped  by  a  simple 
and  friendly  lady  who  accompanied  her,  contrived  to 
distribute  her  favors  impartially.  The  son  of  Cale- 
donia was  so  compelling  that  it  would  have  been  a 
pleasure  to  talk  to  him  for  an  hour,  but  duty  and  jus- 
tice forbade,  and  she  found  a  smile  and  a  word  for 
humbler  mortals.  Among  these,  and  last  of  all  in 
her  tour  of  the  large  room  were  Bill  and  Melia. 

Corporal  Hollis  could  not  be  expected  to  display 
the  entrain  of  a  sergeant  of  the  Black  Watch.  Be- 

142 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

sides  he  had  yet  to  cross  the  water  whereas  Caledo- 
nia's son  was  a  hero  of  Mons  and  the  Marne.  But 
the  gallant  corporal  did  his  regiment  no  discredit  in 
that  great  moment,  likewise  his  wife  Melia,  nor  famed 
Blackhampton,  his  fair  natal  city. 


XXIV 

WHEN  about  twenty  minutes  later  William  and 
Melia,  haloed  with  history,  emerged  from  the 
precincts  of  the  Canteen,  and  as  they  did  so  treading, 
in  a  manner  of  speaking,  the  circumambient  air,  they 
were  at  once  confronted  by  the  spectacle  of  Bus  49 
next  the  adjacent  curb.  And  Bus  49,  according  to  its 
own  account  of  the  matter,  was  going  amongst  other 
places  to  Piccadilly  Circus. 

It  was  the  first  visit  of  the  Corporal  to  the  metropo- 
lis, but  in  his  mind  was  lurking  the  sure  knowledge 
that  Piccadilly  Circus  was  the  exact  and  indubitable 
center  thereof ;  and  by  an  association  of  ideas,  he  also 
seemed  to  remember  that  Piccadilly  Circus  was  where 
the  King  lived.  Such  being  the  case,  the  apparition 
at  that  moment  of  Bus  49  was  about  as  providential 
as  anything  could  have  been. 

It  was  the  work  of  an  instant  to  get  aboard  the 
gracious  engine,  so  swift  the  workings  of  the  human 
mind  in  those  dynamic  moments  when  Fate  itself 
appears,  as  the  sailors  say,  to  stand  by  to  go  about. 
Moreover  the  conductor  had  politely  informed  the 
Corporal  that  there  was  room  for  two  on  the  top. 

That  was  a  golden  journey,  a  kind  of  voyage  to 
144 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

silken  Samarcand  and  cedared  Lebanon,  allowing  of 
course  for  reduction  according  to  scale.  So  miracu- 
lously were  their  hearts  attuned  to  venturing,  that  for 
one  rapt  hour  they  drank  deep  of  poetry  and  romance 
this  glorious  midday  of  July. 

Bus  49  knew  its  business  thoroughly,  no  bus  bet- 
ter. Instead  of  turning  pretty  sharp  to  the  left  into 
that  complacent  purlieu  Portland  Place,  as  a  bus  of 
less  experience  might  have  done  in  order  to  follow 
the  line  of  flight  of  some  mythical  crow  or  other,  it 
chose  to  go  on  and  on,  past  Madame  Tussaud's,  the 
Hotel  Great  Central,  and  then  by  a  series  of  minor 
but  hardly  less  historic  landmarks  along  Edgware 
Road  to  the  Marble  Arch,  thence  via  Park  Lane  to 
Hyde  Park  Corner. 

No  doubt  Bus  49  had  ideas.  The  ordinary  machine 
of  commerce  would  have  got  from  Euston  to  Picca- 
dilly Circus  in  two  shakes  of  a  duck's  tail.  Not  so 
this  accomplished  metropolitan,  this  gorgeous  midday 
of  July.  From  Hyde  Park  Corner  it  proceeded  to 
Victoria,  thence  via  the  Army  and  Navy  Stores  to  the 
Houses  of  Parliament,  down  Whitehall,  past  the  lions 
and  Horatio,  Viscount  Nelson,  past  the  Credit  Lyon- 
nais,  up  the  Haymarket  and  so  at  last  to  Swan  and 
Edgar's  corner,  where  William  and  Melia  dismounted, 
thrilled  as  never  before  in  all  their  lives. 

Piccadilly  Circus,  all  the  same,  was  a  shade  disap- 
pointing. It  was  not  quite  so  grand  as  they  expected. 
The  Criterion  was  just  opposite,  but  they  looked  in 

145 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

vain  for  the  King's  residence.  There  did  not  appear 
to  be  a  sign  of  that.  Bill,  however,  noticed  a  police- 
man, and  decided  to  make  inquiries. 

"I  want  Buckingham  Palace,  please,"  said  the 
wearer  of  the  King's  uniform. 

Constable  X  20,  an  intelligent  officer,  told  the  gal- 
lant corporal  to  walk  along  Piccadilly,  to  which  fa- 
mous thoroughfare  he  pointed  with  professional  ma- 
jesty, to  turn  down  the  street  of  Saint  James,  to  keep 
right  on  until  he  got  to  the  bottom  and  then  to  ask 
again. 

The  constable  was  thanked  for  his  lucidity  and  Wil- 
liam and  Melia  proceeded  according  to  instructions. 
Along  Piccadilly  itself  their  progress  was  a  triumph. 
For,  as  Melia  was  quick  to  observe,  all  the  best  peo- 
ple saluted  Bill.  Of  course  they  could  tell  by  the 
stripe  on  his  sleeve  that  he  had  been  made  a  corporal, 
but  such  open,  public  and  official  recognition  of  his 
merit  was  intensely  gratifying.  Brass-hatted,  berib- 
boned,  extraordinarily  distinguished  looking  warriors 
were  as  punctilious  as  could  be  in  saluting  Bill.  Those 
placed  less  highly,  the  rank  and  file,  the  common 
herd,  paid  him  less  attention,  but  what  were  these  in 
the  scale  of  an  infinitely  larger  and  nobler  tribute? 
By  the  time  William  and  Melia  turned  down  Saint 
James  his  street,  had  an  observant  visitor  from  Mars 
had  the  privilege  of  walking  behind  them  he  would 
have  been  bound  to  conclude  that  the  most  impor- 
tant man  in  the  Empire  was  Corporal  Hollis. 

146 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

He  would  not  have  been  alone  in  that  feeling  for 
Melia  was  in  a  position  to  share  it  with  him.  In  fact 
by  the  time  they  had  traversed  the  historic  thorough- 
fare and  had  reached  Pall  Mall  the  feeling  dominated 
her  mind.  On  every  hand  the  great  ones  of  the  earth 
mustered  thicker  and  thicker,  but  they  kept  on  salut- 
ing Bill.  Such  a  reception  was  hardly  to  have  been 
expected  at  the  center  of  all  things,  yet  in  those  thrill- 
ing moments  so  proud  was  Melia  of  her  man  that  it 
did  not  seem  very  surprising  after  all. 

They  crossed  the  road  to  the  fine  and  ancient  build- 
ing with  the  clock  on  it,  and  after  making  quite  sure 
that  the  King  didn't  live  there — a  pardonable  delu- 
sion under  which  for  a  moment  they  had  labored — 
they  proceeded  past  it,  leaving  Marlborough  House  on 
the  port  bow,  and  then  suddenly,  as  they  came  into 
the  Mall,  they  caught  a  first  glimpse  of  that  which 
they  were  out  for  to  see. 

Converging  slowly  upon  the  King's  residence  Me- 
lia's  courage  began  to  fail. 

It  was  a  very  warm  day  for  one  thing.  And  the  sen- 
try in  his  box,  noi  to  mention  his  brethren  march- 
ing up  and  down  in  front  of  the  railings,  may  have 
daunted  her.  Moreover,  the  Palace  itself  was  an 
exceeding  stately  pile.  Besides,  she  had  seen  the 
Queen  already.  And  Bill  had  passed  the  time  of  day 
with  her.  Thus  it  was,  gazing  in  silent  awe  through 
those  stern  railings  across  that  noble  courtyard,  Melia 
suddenly  made  up  her  mind. 

147 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"No,  Bill,  I  don't  think  I'll  see  the  King  to-day — 
not  in  this  dress." 

Corporal  Hollis  looked  solemnly  at  the  dress  in  ques- 
tion and  then  at  its  wearer.  "It's  as  you  like,  you 
know,  Mother,"  he  said, 


XXV 

AFTER  that  they  walked  about  for  a  while,  but 
the  day  was  terribly  hot,  and  all  too  soon  the 
process  of  seeing  London  on  foot  amid  the  dust  of  a 
torrid  July  began  to  lose  its  charm  for  Melia.  Be- 
sides, had  they  not  seen  the  best  of  London  already? 
Piccadilly  Circus,  it  was  true,  was  a  washout;  but 
they  had  seen  Buckingham  Palace,  the  Houses  of  Par- 
liament, Westminster  Abbey,  Trafalgar  Square,  and 
the  outside  of  Madame  Tussaud's.  Even  in  such  a 
place  as  London  what  else  was  there  to  compare  with 
these  glories? 

Such  skepticism,  however,  was  not  according  to  the 
book,  and  the  Special  Providence  which  had  been  de- 
tailed to  look  after  them  on  this  entrancing  day  was 
soon  able  to  bring/that  fact  to  their  notice.  For  when 
they  had  come  to  the  quadriga  at  the  southwestern 
extremity  of  the  Green  Park,  an  equestrian  piece  which 
in  the  opinion  of  Corporal  Hollis  would  have  done  no 
discredit  to  the  recognized  masterpieces  in  Blackhamp- 
ton's  famous  gallery,  and  they  had  sincerely  admired 
it  and  the  Corporal  had  placed  his  judgment  on  rec- 
ord, lo!  beyond  the  arch,  a  short  stone's  throw  away, 
a  certain  Bus,  26  by  name,  the  exact  replica  of  Bus 

149 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

49,  that  immortal  machine,  was  miraculously  await- 
ing them. 

Bus  26  was  going  to  the  Zoological  Gardens.  And 
the  highly  efficient  Special  Providence  who  had  the 
arrangements  in  hand  had  contrived  to  book  two 
places  on  the  top.  That  is  to  say  its  conductor  in- 
formed the  Corporal  with  an  indulgent  smile  that 
there  was  just  room  outside  for  one  and  a  little  one. 
Whether  the  conductor  would  have  extended  the  same 
accommodating  politeness  to  a  mere  civilian  belongs 
to  the  region  of  conjecture,  but  room  was  undoubtedly 
found  for  the  Corporal's  lady,  and  by  taking  upon 
his  knee  a  future  Wellington — under  the  shadow  of 
whose  effigy  the  pleasing  incident  occurred — in  the 
person  of  a  Boy  Scout  in  full  panoply  of  war,  the 
gallant  Corporal  contrived  to  make  room  for  himself 
also. 

At  the  Zoological  Gardens  they  admired  George, 
although  rather  glad  to  find  that  he  was  only  a  distant 
relation.  They  pitied  the  polar  bears,  they  shuddered 
at  the  pythons,  the  parrots  charmed  them,  the  larger 
carnivora  impressed  them  deeply!  and  then  the  Cor- 
poral looked  at  his  watch,  found  it  was  a  quarter  to 
four  and  promptly  ordered  an  ample  repast  for  two 
persons. 

The  Genie  in  attendance  made  no  bones  at  all  about 
finding  a  small  private  table  for  them,  beneath  the 
shade  of  a  friendly  deodar  which  gave  a  touch  of 
the  Orient  to  the  northwestern  postal  district  and  there 

150 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

they  sat  for  one  sweet  and  memorable  hour.  Per- 
haps it  was  the  sweetest,  most  memorable  hour  that 
life  so  far  had  given  them.  She  admired  this  man 
of  hers  in  a  way  she  had  long  ceased  expecting  to 
admire  him;  she  was  proud  of  him,  she  was  grateful 
to  him  for  the  great  sacrifice  he  was  making.  And 
when  the  inner  Corporal  had  been  comforted,  a  crude 
fellow  who  has  to  be  humored  even  in  moments  of 
feeling,  and  he  had  lit  a  Blackhampton  Straight  Cut, 
a  famous  sedative  known  from  Bond  Street  to  Bag- 
dad, he  took  the  hand  of  the  honest  woman  opposite. 

Somehow  he  was  glad  to  think  that  she  belonged 
to  him.  The  rather  pale  face,  the  careworn  eyes, 
the  tired  smile  were  all  he  had  to  nerve  him  for  the 
task  ahead.  These  his  only  talisman  in  this  grim  hour. 
Yet,  a  true  knight,  he  asked  no  more.  She  was  his, 
a  homely  thing  but  a  good  and  faithful  one,  who 
had  once  believed  in  him,  who  had  come  to  believe 
in  him  again.  He  was  able  to  recall  the  sacrifices 
she  had  made  for  him,  for  her  faith  in  him,  for  her 
vision  of  him.  As  he  looked  across  at  her  he  felt 
content  to  bear  the  gauge  of  this  honest,  doggedly 
courageous  woman  who  had  helped  to  buckle  on  his 
armor.  He  must  see  that  he  didn't  disgrace  her. 

There  was  not  much  to  say  to  one  another.  At  the 
best  of  times  they  were  seldom  articulate.  But  she 
was  able  to  tell  him  that  she  would  be  very  lonely 
without  him.  And  she  made  him  promise  solemnly 
to  do  his  best  to  come  back  to  her  safely. 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"You  mean  it?"  He  knew  she  meant  it,  but  he 
allowed  himself  the  luxury  of  embarrassing  her. 
There  was  a  subtle  pleasure  in  it,  even  if  it  was  not 
quite  fair. 

"You  know  I  do,  Bill.    I'll  be  that  lonely." 

Poor  old  girl!  Of  course  she  would  be  lonely.  It 
made  him  sigh  a  little  when  he  thought  how  lonely 
she  would  be.  He  looked  at  her  with  a  rather  queer 
softness  in  his  eyes.  Their  marriage  seemed  to  have 
brought  them  no  luck  in  anything.  A  time  there  had 
been,  a  time  less  than  a  year  ago,  when  he  had  felt 
very  thankful  that  there  had  been  no  children  to  has- 
ten their  steady,  hopeless  drift  downhill.  Now,  how- 
ever, it  was  a  different  story.  Poor  Melia !  Her  hand 
responded  to  the  pressure  of  his  fingers;  and  a  large 
tear  crept  slowly  into  eyes  that  had  known  them  per- 
haps too  seldom. 

"Never  mind,  Mother,"  he  said  softly.  "I  mean 
to  come  back." 

"Yes,  Bill."  The  words  had  a  curious  intensity. 
"I  mean  you  to.  I've  set  my  mind  on  it.  And  if 
you  really  set  your  mind  on  a  thing  happening ' 

He  loved  the  spirit  in  her,  even  if  he  felt  obliged  to 
touch  wood  as  a  concession  to  the  manes  of  wisdom.( 
It  didn't  do  to  boast  in  times  like  these. 

Presently  they  noticed  that  the  heat  was  less.  Bill 
looked  again  at  his  watch  and  then  they  realized  that 
the  hour  of  parting  had  drawn  much  nearer.  Reluc- 
tantly they  got  up  and  left  the  gardens,  so  putting  an 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

end  to  an  hour  of  life  they  would  never  forget.  Then 
arm  in  arm  they  walked  to  Euston  which  was  not  far 
off,  where  the  Corporal  retrieved  his  kit  from  the 
Canteen  and  exchanged  a  valedictory  smile  with  a 
R.S.P.,  although  he  didn't  feel  like  smiling.  Thence 
by  Tube  to  Waterloo.  It  was  their  first  experience 
of  this  medium  of  travel.  Even  in  Blackhampton, 
in  so  many  ways  the  home  of  modernity,  Tubes  were 
unknown;  they  seemed  exclusively,  rather  bewilder- 
ingly,  metropolitan. 

The  attendant  Genie  had  to  be  watchful  indeed  to 
prevent  their  going  all  round  London  en  route  from 
Euston  to  Waterloo,  but  it  was  so  alive  to  its  duties 
that  they  were  only  once  baffled  and  then  but  tempo- 
rarily. Thus  in  the  end  they  found  themselves  on 
a  seat  on  Platform  Six  with  a  full  hour  to  wait  for 
the  Southampton  train. 

She  left  him  at  the  carriage  door,  a  few  minutes 
before  he  was  due  out  on  his  own  grim  journey,  so 
that  she  might  have  plenty  of  time  to  catch  the  train 
for  the  north.  Minute  instructions  had  to  be  given 
to  enable  her  to  do  this,  for  London  is  a  bewildering 
maze  to  those  not  up  to  its  ways.  But  the  Corporal's 
lady  had  a  typical  Blackhampton  head,  a  thing  cool, 
resolute,  hardy  in  the  presence  of  any  severe  demand 
upon  it;  and  he  was  quite  sure,  and  she  was  quite 
sure,  that  she  would  be  able  to  catch  the  8:55  from 
Euston,  no  matter  what  traps  were  laid  for  her. 

It  was  a  very  simple  good-by,  but  yet  they  were 
153 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

torn  by  it  in  a  way  they  had  hardly  expected.  She 
with  her  worn  face  and  tired  eyes  was  all  there  was 
to  hold  him  to  life — she  and  a  terrible,  impersonal 
sense  of  duty  which  seemed  to  frighten  him  almost. 
As  he  watched  the  drab  figure  disappear  among  the 
crowd  on  the  long  platform  he  couldn't  help  wonder- 
ing. .  .  . 

But  it  was  no  use  wondering.  He  must  set  his 
teeth  and  get  his  head  down  and  try  to  stick  it  no 
matter  what  the  dark  fates  had  in  store. 


XXVI 

THE  Corporal  even  at  his  best  was  not  a  great 
hand  at  writing  letters.  And  the  series  he 
wrote  from  France  did  not  flatter  his  powers.  Really 
they  told  hardly  anything  and  that  which  they  did 
tell  might  have  been  far  more  vividly  rendered.  Still 
in  the  eyes  of  Melia  they  were  precious ;  and  they  did 
something  to  soften  months  of  loneliness  and  toil. 

One  other  gleam  there  was  in  that  sore  time;  a 
fitful  one,  no  doubt,  and  the  ray  it  cast  upon  her  life 
so  dubious,  that,  all  things  considered,  it  meant  small 
comfort.  Yet,  perhaps,  it  may  have  been  wrong  not 
to  accept  this  doubtful  boon  more  gratefully. 

One  morning,  about  a  fortnight  after  Bill's  depar- 
ture for  France,  her  father  paid  one  of  his  periodical 
visits  to  Love  Lane.  Since  W.  Hollis  Fruiterer  had 
taken  a  turn  for  the  better  he  was  content  with  a 
monthly  survey  instead  of  a  weekly  one  in  order  to 
assure  himself  that  the  enterprise  was  shipshape  and 
its  affairs  in  order. 

Melia's  reception  of  her  father  was  invariably  cool. 
She  had  a  proud,  unyielding  nature,  and  Josiah's 
tardy  concession  to  the  sternness  of  the  times  even  if 
it  had  thawed  the  ice  a  little  had  not  really  melted 
it.  Neither  was  quite  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  the 

155 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

other;  in  both  was  a  smoldering  resentment  and  the 
spirit  of  un forgiveness. 

The  books,  on  inspection,  proved  to  be  in  very  fair 
order.  They  were  carefully  and  neatly  kept  and,  in 
comparison  with  the  state  of  affairs  before  a  busi- 
ness man  came  on  the  scene  to  direct  them,  they 
showed  a  refreshing  change  for  the  better.  The  ac- 
counts had  been  made  up  to  the  half  year.  And  as 
a  result  of  eight  months  trading  under  new  condi- 
tions there  was  a  clear  profit  of  forty-five  pounds  after 
a  full  allowance  for  expenses. 

Josiah  expressed  himself  well  satisfied.  In  com- 
mon with  the  great  majority  of  his  race,  material 
success  was  the  shrine  at  which  he  worshiped.  Suc- 
cess in  this  case,  moreover,  was  doubly  gratifying; 
it  lent  point  to  his  own  foresight  and  judgment  and 
it  exhibited  a  latent  capacity  in  his  eldest  daughter. 
Time  alone  would  be  able  to  disperse  the  bitterness 
he  cherished  against  her  in  his  heart,  but  it  did  him 
good  to  feel  that  she  was  not  wholly  a  fool  and  that 
in  some  quite  important  particulars  she  was  a  chip 
of  the  old  block. 

He  congratulated  her  solemnly  in  the  manner  of  a 
Chairman  of  Directors  addressing  a  General  Mana- 
ger and  hoped  she  would  go  on  as  she  had  begun.  Re- 
sentful as  she  still  was,  she  was  secretly  flattered  by 
the  compliment ;  and  she  hastened  to  offer  to  repay  the 
sum  he  had  advanced  for  the  satisfaction  of  the  for- 
mer creditors. 

156 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"Let  it  stand  over,"  he  said,  "until  your  position's 
a  bit  firmer." 

She  insisted,  but  he  was  not  to  be  shaken;  and 
then,  as  was  his  way  when  at  a  loss  for  an  argument, 
he  gave  the  contest  of  wills  a  new,  unexpected  turn. 
"Doing  anything  particular  Sunday  afternoon?" 

No,  she  was  not  doing  a  thing  particular. 

"Better  come  up  home  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  with 
us."  Then  in  a  tone  less  impersonal :  "Your  mother 
would  like  to  see  you." 

The  blood  rushed  over  Melia's  face.  At  first  she 
feigned  not  to  hear,  but  that  did  not  help  her.  Dig- 
nity had  many  demands  to  make,  but  the  brusque  in- 
sistence of  this  father  of  hers  seemed  to  cut  away  the 
ground  on  which  it  stood. 

"Say  what  time  and  I'll  send  the  car  for  you." 

The  tone  was  so  final  that  anything  she  could  raise 
in  the  way  of  protest  seemed  weakly  ridiculous.  But 
the  car  for  her!  She  didn't  want  the  car  and  she 
mustered  force  enough  to  say  so. 

"Might  as  well  have  it.  Doing  nothing  Sunday. 
Save  you  a  climb  up  the  hill  this  hot  weather." 

Of  one  thing,  however,  she  was  quite  sure.  She 
didn't  want  the  car.  This  recent  and  remarkable  ex- 
pression of  her  father's  wealth  and  ever-growing  so- 
cial importance  had  taken  the  form  of  a  superb  mo- 
tor and  a  smart  lady  chauffeur  in  the  neatest  of  green 
liveries  which  already  she  had  happened  to  see  on 
two  occasions  in  Waterloo  Square.  No,  such  a  ve- 

157 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

hide  was  not  for  her ;  and  she  contrived  to  say  so  with 
the  bluntness  demanded  by  the  circumstances,  yet 
tempered  a  little  by  a  certain  regard  for  anything  her 
father  might  be  able  to  muster  in  the  way  of  feelings. 

"Might  as  well  make  use  of  it,"  he  said.  "Eating 
its  head  off  Sunday  afternoon." 

But  she  remained  quite  firm.  The  car  was  not  for 
her. 

"Well,  it's  there  for  you  if  you  want  it."  His  air 
was  majestic.  "Better  pay  that  money  into  the  bank. 
And  I  shall  tell  your  mother  to  expect  you  Sunday 
tea  time." 

It  was  left  at  that.  He  had  gained  both  his  points. 
The  third  was  subsidiary;  it  didn't  matter.  All  the 
same  it  was  like  Josiah  to  raise  it  as  a.  cover  for  those 
that  did. 


XXVII 

MELIA  was  frankly  annoyed  with  herself  for 
not  having  put  up  a  better  resistance.  The 
sight  of  her  father  strutting  down  the  street  with 
the  honors  of  war  upon  him  was  a  little  too  much  for 
her.  He  had  been  guilty  of  sixteen  years  of  tyranni- 
cal cruelty  and  she  was  unable  to  forgive.  In  those 
sixteen  years  she  had  suffered  bitterly  and  her  stub- 
born nature  had  great  powers  of  resentment. 

Who  was  he  that  he  should  walk  down  Love  Lane 
not  merely  as  if  he  owned  it — in  sober  truth  he  now 
owned  half — but  also  the  souls  of  the  people  who  lived 
there?  She  could  not  help  resenting  that  invincible 
flare,  that  overweening  success,  particularly  when  she 
compared  it  with  the  fecklessness  of  the  man  she  had 
so  imprudently  married.  After  all,  she  was  the  first- 
born of  this  vain  image  and  she  knew  his  shortcom- 
ings better  than  he  knew  them  himself.  He  had  had 
more  than  his  share  of  luck.  No  matter  what  the 
world  might  think  of  him,  however  fortune  might 
treat  him,  he  was  not  worthy  of  the  position  he  had 
come  to  occupy. 

As  soon  as  the  ponderous  broadcloth  back  had 
turned  the  corner  of  Love  Lane  and  was  lost  in  that 
strong-moving  stream,  Mulcaster  Road,  she  made  up 

159 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

her  mind  that  she  would  not  go  up  to  tea  on  Sunday 
afternoon.  It  was  not  that  he  really  cared  whether 
she  went  or  not;  had  he  done  so  he  would  have  asked 
her  sooner.  Maybe  his  conscience  was  pricking  him 
a  bit,  but  he  was  not  one  to  be  much  troubled  in  that 
way.  In  any  case  let  it  hurt  him — so  much  the  bet- 
ter if  it  did.  This  was  a  matter  in  which  she  would 
like  him  to  be  hurt  as  he  had  never  been  hurt  before. 

Here  again,  however,  her  father  had  an  unfair  ad- 
vantage. If  she  stayed  away  on  Sunday  she  might 
punish  him  a  little — and  even  that  was  doubtful — : 
but  she  would  certainly  punish  her  mother  far  more. 
And  she  had  not  the  slightest  wish  to  do  that.  She 
was  sorry  for  her  mother,  whose  sins  of  omission 
sprang  from  weakness  of  character.  Nature  had 
placed  her  in  a  very  different  category.  She  had 
fought  this  tyrant  as  hard  as  it  was  in  her  to  fight 
any  one,  but  she  was  one  of  nature's  underlings  whose 
lot  was  always  to  be  trampled  on. 

Alas,  if  Melia  didn't  turn  up  on  Sunday  it  was  her 
mother  who  would  suffer.  And  it  was  a  matter  in 
which  she  had  suffered  too  much  already.  Melia  had 
no  particular  affection  now  remaining  for  her  mother ; 
she  even  despised  her  for  being  so  poor  a  creature, 
but  at  least  her  only  crime  was  weakness  and  it  was 
hardly  fair  that  she  should  endure  more  than  was  nec- 
essary. Melia's  was  rather  a  masculine  nature  in  some 
ways;  at  any  rate  her  father  and  she  had  one  trait 

1 60 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

in  common.    They  had  a  sense  of  justice.    Hence  she 
was  now  on  the  horns  of  a  dilemma. 

It  was  not  until  Sunday  itself,  after  morning  serv- 
ice at  Saint  George's,  that  the  decision  was  finally 
made.  And  then  fortified  by  Mr.  Bontine,  a  clergy- 
man for  whom  Melia  had  a  regard,  she  decided  much 
against  her  inclination  to  go  up  to  The  Rise  in  the 
afternoon.  It  was  a  reluctant  decision,  made  in  sore- 
ness of  heart;  the  only  satisfaction  to  be  got  out  of 
it  would  arise  from  the  dubious  process  which  the 
reverend  gentleman  described  as  "conquest  of  self." 

She  set  out  rather  later  than  she  meant  to,  in  a 
decidedly  heavy  mood.  And  it  was  not  made  lighter 
by  the  fact  that  the  afternoon  was  sultry  with  the 
promise  of  thunder,  and  that  the  long  and  tedious 
climb  to  The  Rise  had  to  be  made  without  the  help 
of  the  tram  on  which  she  had  counted.  Long  before 
the  trams  from  the  Market  Place  had  reached  the 
end  of  Love  Lane  they  were  full  to  overflowing,  as 
she  ought  to  have  known  they  would  be  on  a  fine 
Sunday  afternoon  in  the  middle  of  the  summer.  In 
the  process  6f  painfully  mounting  the  stuffy  length 
of  mean  streets  to  achieve  the  space  and  grandeur  of 
The  Rise  she  grew  vexed  and  hot.  When  at  last 
she  reached  the  famous  eminence  she  was  far  indeed 
from  the  frame  of  mind  proper  to  the  paying  of  a 
call  in  its  exclusive  society.  But  it  served  her  right. 
She  should  have  stayed  at  home,  or  at  least  have  al- 
lowed the  motor  to  be  sent  for  her. 

161 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

As  it  was,  it  was  nearly  five  o'clock  when,  limp 
and  fagged,  she  came  at  last  in  view  of  the  many- 
windowed,  much-gabled  elevation  of  Strathfieldsaye. 
In  spite  of  herself  the  sight  of  it  made  her  feel  nerv- 
ous. It  was  the  home  of  her  father  and  mother,  but 
its  note  of  grandeur  gave  her  a  cruel  sense  of  her 
own  inadequacy.  At  the  brilliantly  painted  gate  she 
lingered  a  moment.  Courage  was  called  for  to  walk 
up  the  broad  gravel  path  as  far  as  the  porch  with  its 
fine  oak  door  studded  with  brass  nails. 

At  last,  however,  she  went  up  and  rang  the  bell. 
An  extremely  grand  parlor  maid  received  her  almost 
scornfully,  and  led  her  across  a  slippery  but  superb 
entrance  hall  which  was  disconcertingly  magnificent. 
It  was  hard  to  grasp  at  that  moment  that  such  an  in- 
terior was  the  creation  of  her  commonplace  parents, 
harder  still  to  believe  that  this  servant  whose  clothes 
and  manners  were  superior  to  her  own  was  at  their 
beck  and  call. 

However,  she  would  go  through  the  ordeal  now  she 
had  got  so  far.  But  this  afternoon  luck  was  heavily 
against  her.  The  ordeal  proved  to  be  more  severe 
than  even  her  gloomiest  moments  had  foreshadowed. 
She  was  ushered  just  as  she  was,  in  her  shabby  hat 
and  much  mended  gloves,  straight  into  the  drawing 
room  into  the  midst  of  company.  And  the  company 
was  of  the  kind  she  would  have  given  much  to  avoid. 

She  had  hoped  that  she  might  find  her  mother  alone, 
or  at  the  worst,  drinking  tea  with  her  father.  In- 

162 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

stead,  the  first  person  she  saw  was  the  insufferable 
Gertrude  Preston,  that  mass  of  airs  and  graces  which 
always  enabled  their  wearer  to  stand  out  in  Melia's 
mind  as  all  that  a  woman  ought  not  to  be.  And  as 
if  the  sight  of  Gertrude  was  not  sufficiently  chilling 
and  embarrassing,  the  second  person  she  realized  as 
being  present  was  her  own  stuck-up  sister  Ethel,  in- 
variably known  in  the  family  as  Mrs.  Doctor  Cock- 
burn.  She  was  accompanied,  however,  by  her  two 
children,  little  peacocks  of  six  and  seven,  spoiled 
fluffy  masses  of  pink  ribbons  and  conceit. 

Last  of  all  was  her  mother.  She  was  always  last 
in  any  assembly.  Somehow  she  never  seemed  to 
count.  In  the  old  days  even  in  her  own  home  she  could 
always  be  talked  down,  or  put  out  of  countenance  or 
elbowed  to  the  wall;  and  now,  after  the  flight  of 
years,  in  these  grand  surroundings,  she  had  not  al- 
tered in  the  least.  She  still  had  the  eyes  of  a  rabbit 
and  a  fat  hand  that  wobbled ;  and  on  Melia's  entrance 
into  the  room  Gerty  and  Ethel  at  once  took  the  lead 
of  her  in  the  way  they  had  always  taken  it. 

"Why,  I  do  declare!"  Gerty  rose  at  once  with 
cleverly  (simulated  surprise  tempered  by  a  certain 
stock  brand  of  archness,  kept  always  on  tap,  and  un- 
failingly effective  in  moments  of  sudden  crisis  or 
emotional  tension.  "How  are  you,  Amelia?"  She 
would  have  liked  to  offer  her  cheek,  but  the  look  in 
Amelia's  eyes  forbade  her  risking  it.  Therefore,  a 

163 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

hand  had  to  suffice,  an  elegant  hand,  but  a  wary  one 
which  met  with  scant  ceremony. 

Ethel,  Mrs.  Doctor  Cockburn,  also  rose,  but  not 
immediately.  "Glad  to  see  you,  Amelia." 

Melia  knew  it  was  a  lie  on  Ethel's  part,  and  had 
she  had  a  little  more  self-possession  might  have  been 
moved  to  say  so. 

The  three  daughters  of  Mr.  Josiah  Munt  marked 
three  stages  in  his  meteoric  career.  Melia,  the  eldest, 
was  the  child  of  the  primitive  era.  Compared  with 
her  sisters  she  was  almost  a  savage.  Between  her 
and  Ethel  had  been  a  boy,  Josiah,  whose  birth  had 
nearly  killed  Maria  and  who  had  died  untimely  in  his 
babyhood.  She  was  not  allowed  in  consequence  to 
bear  any  more  children  for  ten  years,  and  Ethel  was 
the  natural  fruit  of  the  interregnum.  Ethel  was  gen- 
erally allowed  to  be  the  masterpiece  of  the  family. 
Five  years  after  her  had  come  Sally  who  perhaps  in 
point  of  time  and  opportunity  should  have  put  out  the 
light  even  of  Ethel;  but  in  her  case  it  seemed  the 
blessed  word  progress  had  moved  a  little  too  fast. 
Sally,  as  the  world  knew  only  too  well,  was  over-edu- 
cated; from  the  uplands  of  high  intellectual  develop- 
ment Sally  had  slipped  over  the  precipice  into  a  mental 
and  moral  abyss. 

From  the  social  and  even  the  physical  standpoint 
Ethel  was  indubitably  the  pick  of  Mr.  Josiah  Munt's 
three  daughters.  And  Mrs.  Doctor's  rather  frigid 
reception  of  her  eldest  sister  showed  a  nice  perception 

164 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

of  the  fact.  Amelia  had  thrown  her  back  to  a  prehis- 
toric phase.  She  had  something  of  the  air  and  man- 
ner of  a  charwoman.  When  she  entered  the  room, 
little  shivers  had  crept  down  Ethel's  sensitive  spine. 
She  could  hardly  bear  to  look  at  her. 

Melia  also  felt  very  uncomfortable.  She  couldn't 
find  a  word  to  say  and  the  children  stared  at  her.  But 
she  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  that  Gerty  provided ;  tea, 
bread  and  butter  and  cake  were  given  her;  she  began 
to  eat  and  drink  mechanically,  but  still  she  felt 
strangely  hostile  and  unhappy.  She  resented  the 
bright  plumage,  the  amazing  prosperity  of  those 
among  whom  she  had  been  born ;  above  all,  she  resent- 
ed Ethel's  superciliousness  and  Gerty's  patronage. 
Ethel,  of  course,  had  a  right  to  be  supercilious,  and 
that  fact  was  an  added  barb.  Her  light  shone.  SHE 
was  the  only  one  who  had  shed  any  luster  on  the  fam- 
ily; her  marriage  with  a  doctor  rising  to  eminence  in 
the  town  was  a  model  of  judicious  ambition.  Ethel 
"had  done  very  well  for  herself,"  and  even  the  set 
of  her  hat,  black  tulle  and  white  feathers  and  the  op- 
ulent lines  of  her  spotted  muslin  dress,  seemed  to  pro- 
claim it.  Her  bearing  completed  the  picture.  She 
had  not  been  in  the  same  room  with  Amelia  for  many 
years,  although  she  had  passed  her  once  or  twice  in 
the  street  without  speaking;  and  at  the  moment  her 
judicious  mind  was  fully  engaged  with  the  problem 
as  to  whether  Gwenneth  and  Gwladys  could  or  could 

165 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

not  call  her  "Auntie."  Finally,  but  not  at  once,  the 
answer  was  in  the  negative. 

Amelia,  without  a  word  to  say  for  herself,  and 
suffering  acutely  from  a  social  awkwardness  which 
a  lonely  life  in  sordid  circumstances  had  made  much 
worse,  was  altogether  out  of  it.  Ethel  and  Gerty  had 
charm  and  elegance;  they  spoke  a  different  language; 
they  might  have  belonged  to  a  different  race.  Amelia's 
natural  ally  should  have  been  her  mother.  They  had 
much  in  common  but  that  depressed  and  inefficient 
woman  was  nearly  as  tongue-tied  as  her  eldest  daugh- 
ter. Ethel  and  Gerty  were  almost  as  far  beyond  the, 
range  of  Maria  as  they  were  beyond  the  range  of 
Amelia;  their  expensive  clothes  and  their  correct  talk 
of  This  and  That  and  These  and  Those,  with  clear, 
high  pitched  intonation  filled  her  with  dismay.  Maria, 
even  in  her  own  drawing  room,  was  in  such  awe  of 
them  that  she  could  make  no  overtures  to  Amelia,  al- 
though she  simply  longed  to  point  to  the  vacant  sofa 
beside  her  and  to  say,  "Come  and  sit  over  here,  my 
dear." 

The  eldest  daughter  of  the  house  bitterly  regretted 
the  folly  that  had  brought  her  among  them  again  after 
so  many  years  of  outlawry.  But  in  a  few  minutes 
her  father  came  in  and  then  she  got  on  better.  He 
was  the  real  cause  of  her  present  sufferings,  but  his 
own  freedom  from  self-consciousness  or  the  least  ten- 
dency to  pose  amid  surroundings  which  seemed  to 

1 66 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

crave  that  form  of  weakness  was  exactly  what  the  sit- 
uation called  for. 

"Hulloa,  Melia,"  he  said  heartily.  "Pleased  to  see 
you,  gel."  His  lips  saluted  her  cheek  with  a  loud 
smack.  There  was  not  a  suspicion  of  false  shame 
about  him.  He  was  master  in  his  own  house  at  any 
rate.  And  when  he  made  up  his  mind  to  do  a  thing 
he  did  it  thoroughly.  "What  do  you  think  on  'em?" 
He  pointed  to  his  grandchildren  rather  proudly. 
"That's  Gwennie.  And  that's  Gladdie.  This  is  your 
Auntie  Melia." 

The  ears  of  Mrs.  Doctor  Cockburn  began  to  burn 
a  little  as  the  eyes  of  Gwennie  and  Gladdie  grew 
rounder  and  rounder. 

"Gladdie  favors  her  ma.  Don't  you  think  so,  eh? 
And  they've  both  got  a  look  of  Grandma — what?" 

"I  see  a  look  of  you,  you  know,  Josiah,"  said 
Auntie  Gerty  with  an  air  of  immense  discretion. 

"Urn.  Maybe.  Have  they  had  any  strawberries, 
Grandma  ?" 

Their  mother  thought  they  ought  not  to  have  straw- 
berries, but  their  grandfather  was  convinced  that  a 
few  would  not  hurt  them  and  chose  half  a  dozen  him- 
self from  a  blue  dish  on  the  tea  table  and  presented 
them  personally. 

"There,  Gwenneth,  what  do  you  say?"  Mrs.  Doc- 
tor Cockburn's  own  mouth  was  full  of  prunes  and 
prisms.  "Thank  you  what — thank  you,  Grandpa." 

"That's  a  good  little  gel."  There  was  a  geniality, 
167 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

an  indulgence,  in  the  tone  of  Josiah  that  he  had  never 
thought  of  extending  to  his  own  children  in  their  nurs- 
ery days.  "And  I  tell  you  what,  Ma — if  they  get 
a  pain  under  their  pinnies  they  must  blame  their  old 
grand-dad.'* 

Altogether,  a  pleasant  episode,  and  to  everybody, 
Gwenneth  and  Gwladys  included,  a  welcome  diver- 
sion. 

"Have  some  more  tea,  Melia."  Her  father  took  her 
cup  from  her  in  spite  of  the  protest  her  tongue  was 
unable  to  utter  and  handed  it  to  the  inefficient  lady 
in  charge  of  the  teapot.  "And  you  must  have  a  few 
strawberries.  Fresh  picked  out  of  the  garden.  Ethel, 
touch  that  bell." 

Mrs.  Doctor,  with  an  air  of  resolute  fineladyism, 
pressed  the  electric  button  at  her  elbow.  The  grand 
parlor  maid  entered  with  a  smile  of  imperfectly  con- 
cealed cynicism. 

"Alice,  more  cream !" 

Melia  wondered  how  even  her  father  was  able  to 
address  Alice  in  that  way ;  but  his  coolness  ministered 
to  the  reluctant  respect  he  was  arousing  in  her  by  his 
manly  attitude  to  his  own  grandeur. 

The  cream  appeared.  Gwenneth  and  Gwladys  were 
forbidden  to  have  any — their  lives  so  far  had  been  a 
series  of  negations  and  inhibitions — but  Melia  had 
some,  although  she  didn't  want  it,  but  the  will  of  her 
father  was  greater  than  her  powers  of  resistance.  And 

168 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

then  he  said  to  her,  "When  you've  had  your  tea,  I'll 
show  you  the  greenus." 

"Conservatory,  Josiah,"  said  Aunt  Gerty  with  an 
arch  preen  of  features  and  a  show  of  plumage.  "Much 
too  big  for  a  mere  greenhouse." 

"Greenus  is  more  homelike,  Gert.  What  do  you 
say,  Mother?"  He  laughed  almost  gayly  at  Maria. 
The  eldest  daughter  was  amazed  at  the  change  that 
seemed  to  be  coming  over  her  father.  In  the  dismal 
days  of  drudgery  and  gloomy  terrorism  at  the  public 
house  in  Waterloo  Square  which  now  seemed  so  far 
away  in  the  past,  there  was  not  a  trace  of  this  large 
and  rich  geniality.  Prosperity,  power,  worldly  suc- 
cess must  have  mellowed  her  father  as  well  as  enlarged 
him.  He  seemed  so  much  bigger  now,  so  much  riper, 
he  seemed  to  care  more  for  others. 

Ethel  and  Gertrude  were  quite  put  into  the  shade 
by  the  force  and  the  heartiness  of  Josiah,  but  Mrs. 
Doctor  was  not  one  lightly  to  play  second  fiddle  to 
any  member  of  her  own  family.  "I  hear,"  she  said, 
pitching  her  voice  upon  an  almost  perilous  note  of 
fashion — there  was  even  a  suspicion  of  a  drawl  which 
brought  an  involuntary  curl  to  Melia's  lip — "that 
young  Nixey,  the  architect,  has  been  recommended 
for  the  M.C." 

"Has  he  so?"  Josiah's  eye  lighted  up  over  his 
suspended  teacup.  "I've  always  said  there  was  some- 
thing in  that  young  Nixey.  And  I'm  not  often  mis- 

169 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

taken.  He  designed  that  row  of  cottages  I  built  down 
Bush  Lane." 

"A  row  of  cottages  in  Bush  Lane,  have  you,  Jo- 
siah?"  said  Aunt  Gerty  with  an  air  of  statesmanlike 
interest.  "You  seem  to  be  what  they  call  going  into 
bricks  and  mortar." 

"You  bet  I  am — for  some  time  now.  And  bricks 
and  mortar  are  not  going  to  get  less  in  value  if  this 
war  keeps  on,  take  it  from  me." 

"I  suppose  not,"  said  Mrs.  Doctor  Cockburn,  a 
judge  of  values. 

"I've  one  regret."  It  was  not  like  Josiah  to  har- 
bor regrets  of  any  kind,  and  Aunt  Gerty  visibly  ad- 
justed her  mind  to  hear  something  memorable. 
"That  young  Nixey's  as  smart  as  paint.  I  nearly 
let  him  have  the  contract  for  this  house.  In  some 
ways  he  might  have  suited  us  better." 

"But  this  house  is  splendid,"  said  Gerty  with  fla- 
grant optimism.  She  knew  in  her  heart  that  the  house 
was  too  splendid. 

"Young  Nixey's  idea  was  something  neater,  more 
in  the  Mossop  style.  I  didn't  see  at  the  time,  so  I 
got  Rawlins  to  do  it  to  my  own  design.  Of  course, 
what  I  didn't  like  about  Nixey  was  that  he  would 
have  it  that  he  knew  better  than  I  did,  and  I'm  not 

sure "  Josiah  hovered  on  the  brink  of  a  very 

remarkable  admission. 

"I  don't  agree,  Josiah.  This  house  is  almost  per- 
fect." The  specious  Gertrude  was  amazed  that  he 

170 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

of  all  men  should  be  so  near  a  confession  that  he 
might  have  been  wrong.  Dark  influences  were  at 
work  in  him  evidently. 

"I  agree  with  you,  Father."  Mrs.  Doctor  had 
nothing  of  Gerty's  finesse.  "The  Gables  is  so  re- 
fined, a  house  for  a  gentleman." 

"Don't  know  about  that,"  Josiah  frowned.  "Never 
heard  of  a  house  being  refined.  Comes  to  that,  this 
place  is  good  enough  for  me,  any  time."  If  he  went 
so  far  as  to  own  that  he  might  have  been  wrong  it 
was  clearly  the  duty  of  others  to  hasten  to  contradict 
him.  "But  The  Gables  is  more  compact.  More  com- 
fort somehow,  and  less  show." 

"Stands  in  less  ground,  must  have  cost  less,"  said 
Gerty  softly.  "Compared  to  Strathfieldsaye,  The  Ga- 
bles to  my  mind  is  rather  niggardly." 

"That  is  so,  Gert."  He  nodded  approvingly.  She 
was  always  there  with  the  right  word.  "All  the  same 
I  believe  in  that  young  Nixey.  Started,  you  know, 
at  the  Council  School.  Won  a  scholarship  at  the 
University.  Why,  I  remember  his  mother  when  she 
used  to  come  to  the  Duke  of  Wellington  and  sew  for 
Maria.  Done  everything  for  himself.  And  now  he's 
a  commissioned  officer  in  the  B.B.  Give  honor  where 
honor's  due,  I  say." 

Gerty  and  Ethel  agreed,  perhaps  a  little  reluctantly. 
Maria  expressed  a  tacit  approval.  And  then  Melia 
made  the  discovery  that  her  mind  had  wandered  as 

171 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

far  as  France;  and  for  a  moment  or  so  the  world's 
pressure  upon  her  felt  a  little  less  stifling. 

"Wonderful,  how  that  young  man's  got  on!"  There 
was  reverence  in  the  tone  of  Gerty  whose  religion 
was  "getting  on." 

"It  is."  Josiah  was  emphatic.  "You  can't  hold 
some  people  back.  I  give  him  another  ten  years  to 
be  the  first  architect  in  this  town  ...  if  he  comes 
through  This." 

"It's  a  big  'if.' "  Before  the  words  were  out  of 
Gerty's  mouth  she  remembered  Amelia's  husband  and 
wished  them  unsaid.  She  had  not  had  the  courage  to 
mention  William  Hollis  with  poor  Amelia  so  rigidly 
on  the  defensive,  but  she  had  hoped  that  some  one 
would  introduce  the  subject  so  that  a  tribute  might  be 
paid  him.  But  no  one  had  done  so,  and  now  that 
Josiah  was  there  the  time  seemed  to  have  gone  by. 
His  views  in  regard  to  Amelia's  husband  were  far 
too  definite  to  be  challenged  lightly. 

Interest  in  young  Nixey,  the  architect,  began  to 
wane  and  then  suddenly  Ethel  startled  them  all  by 
the  statement  that  she  had  just  had  a  letter  from 
Sally. 

Josiah's  geniality  promptly  received  a  coating  of 
ice.  His  mouth  closed  like  a  trap.  Sally  had  not 
been  forgiven  by  her  father  and  those  who  knew  him 
best  had  the  least  hope  that  she  would  be.  Her  con- 
duct had  struck  him  in  a  very  tender  place,  and  Gerty 
could  not  help  thinking  that  it  was  most  imprudent 

172 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

of  Ethel  to  mention  Sally  in  his  presence  in  any  cir- 
cumstances. 

Ethel,  however,  had  long  ceased  to  fear  her  father. 
For  one  thing,  in  the  eyes  of  the  world  her  position 
was  too  secure.  Besides,  she  was  obtuse.  Where  an- 
gels, etc.,  Mrs.  Doctor  could  always  be  trusted  to 
walk  with  a  certain  measure  of  assurance,  mainly  be- 
cause she  didn't  see  things  and  feel  things  in  the  way 
that  most  people  did.  For  that  reason  she  was  not 
at  all  disconcerted  by  the  silence  that  followed  her 
announcement.  And  she  supplemented  it  with  another 
which  compelled  Gerty,  the  adroit,  to  steal  a  veiled 
glance  at  the  sphinx-like  face  of  her  brother-in-law. 

"She  writes  from  Serbia,  giving  a  long  and  won- 
derful account  of  her  doings  with  the  Red  Cross.  I 
think  I  have  her  letter  with  me."  Ethel  opened  a 
green  morocco  bag  that  was  on  the  sofa  beside  her. 
''Yes  .  .  ./.here  it  is  ...  a  long  account.  Care  to 
read  it,  Father?"  She  offered  the  letter  unconcernedly 
to  Josiah. 

He  shook  his  head  somberly.    "I'll  not  read  it  now." 

"Let  me  leave  it  with  you.  Well  worth  reading. 
But  I'd  like  to  have  it  back." 

"No,  take  it  with  you,  gel."  The  words  were 
sharp.  "Haven't  much  time  for  reading  anything  these 
days.  Happen  I'll  lose  it  or  something."  It  was 
lame  and  obvious,  but  Josiah  had  been  taken  too  much 
by  surprise  to  do  anything  better.  Gerty  was  an- 
noyed with  Ethel.  She  had  no  right  to  be  so  tact- 

173 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

less.  None  knew  so  well  as  Ethel  the  state  of  the 
case  in  regard  to  Sally.  At  the  same  time  Gerty's 
respect  for  Josiah  which  amounted  to  genuine  regard 
was  a  little  wounded.  He  ought  to  have  been  big 
enough  to  have  read  the  letter. 

Ethel  had  contrived  to  banish  the  ease  and  the  sun- 
shine from  the  proceedings.  The  light  of  genial  hu- 
mor in  the  eyes  of  her  father  yielded  to  the  trucu- 
lence  of  that  earlier  epoch  so  familiar  to  Amelia.  It 
was  a  great  pity  that  it  should  be  so;  and  after  a 
tense  moment  the  gallant  Gerty  did  her  best  to  pour 
oil  on  the  vexed  waters.  "The  other  day  in  the 
Tribune  they  were  praising  you  finely,  Josiah." 

"Was  they?"  The  King's  English  was  not  his 
strong  point  in  moments  of  tension.  But  in  any  mo- 
ment, as  Gerty  knew,  he  had  his  share  of  the  legiti- 
mate vanity  of  the  rising  publicist.  "What  did  they 
say?" 

"The  Tribune  said  you  deserved  well,  not  only  of 
your  fellow  townsmen,  but  of  the  country  at  large 
for  the  excellent  work  you  had  done  in  the  last  nine 
months  for  the  national  cause.  They  said  your  work 
on  the  Recruiting  and  Munitions  Committees  had 
been  most  valuable." 

Josiah  was  visibly  mollified  by  this  piping.  "Very 
decent  of  the  Tribune." 

"You'll  make  an  excellent  mayor,  Josiah.  Your 
turn  next  year,  isn't  it?" 

Josiah  nodded.  The  light  came  again  into  his  eyes. 
174 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"There's  no  saying  what  sort  of  a  mayor  I'll  make. 
It's  a  stiff  job  when  you  come  to  tackle  it.  Big  re- 
sponsibility in  times  like  these." 

"You  are  not  the  man  to  shirk  responsibility." 

Josiah  allowed  that  he  was  not,  but  the  office  of 
mayor  in  a  place  like  Blackhampton  in  times  like 
these  was  no  sinecure  for  a  man  with  a  sense  of  civic 
duty.  Once  more  he  clouded.  From  what  he  heard 
things  were  looking  pretty  bad.  If  England  was  go- 
ing to  win  the  war  she  should  have  to  find  a  better 
set  of  brains. 

"But  surely  the  Allies  are  quite  as  clever  as  the 
Germans  ?" 

"They  may  be,  but  they  haven't  shown  it  so  far. 
We  are  a  scratch  lot  of  amateurs  against  a  team  of 
trained  professionals.  The  raw  material  is  just  as 
good,  if  not  better,  but  it  takes  time  to  lick  it  in  to 
shape.  And  we've  got  to  learn  to  use  it."  His  gloom 
deepened.  "Still  we  shall  never  give  in  to  the  Hun 
.  .  .  not  in  a  hundred  years." 

Ethel  concurred  in  this  robust  sentiment.  And  then 
again  she  obtusely  referred  to  Sally's  letter.  It  was 
such  a  wonderful  letter  that  her  father  really  ought 
to  read  it.  He  was  clearly  annoyed  by  her  tactless 
persistence.  In  order  to  cloak  his  feelings  he  called 
upon  Melia  in  the  old  peremptory  way  to  come  and 
look  at  his  tomatoes. 

As  they  rose  for  that  purpose,  Mrs.  Doctor  Cock- 
burn  rose  also.  She  must  really  be  going;  it  was  the 

175 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

cook's  evening  out.  Gwenneth  and  Gwladys  were 
bidden  to  say  good-by  to  Grandpa.  They  did  so  shy- 
ly but  rather  prettily. 

"Now  let  me  see  you  shake  hands  with  your  Auntie 
Melia,"  said  Josiah. 

Gwenneth  and  Gwladys  accomplished  this  task  less 
successfully.  They  were  half  terrified  by  this  shabby, 
gloomy,  silent  woman  who  had  not  a  word  to  say. 


XXVIII 

WEEKS  went  by  and  Melia  settled  down  to  a 
hard  and  lonely  winter  in  Love  Lane.  She 
missed  Bill  sadly  now  he  was  no  longer  there.  Ab- 
sence had  conferred  all  sorts  of  virtues  upon  him. 
She  quite  forgot  that  for  many  years  and  up  till  very 
recently  she  could  hardly  bear  the  sight  of  him  about 
the  place.  Their  relations  as  man  and  wife  had  en- 
tered upon  a  new  and  very  remarkable  phase. 

About  once  a  fortnight  or  so  life  was  made  a  bit 
lighter  for  her  by  a  penciled  scrawl  from  somewhere 
in  France.  Bill's  letters  told  surprisingly  little,  yet 
he  maintained  a  kind  of  grim  cheeriness  and  seemed 
more  concerned  for  the  life  she  might  be  leading  than 
for  anything  that  was  happening  to  himself.  He  was 
very  grateful  for  the  small  comforts  she  sent  him 
from  time  to  time,  he  was  much  interested  in  the  con- 
tinued prosperity  of  the  business,  and  he  mentioned 
with  evident  pleasure  that  her  mother  had  sent  him 
a  pair  of  socks  and  a  comforter  she  had  knitted  herself, 
also  a  "nice  letter." 

From  his  mother-in-law,  whom  Bill  had  always  sus- 
pected of  being  a  good  sort  at  heart,  "if  the  Old  Un 
would  give  her  a  chance,"  he  had  an  account  of  Melia's 
visit  to  Strathfieldsaye.  Her  mother  said  what  plea- 

177 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

sure  it  would  give  her  father  if  she  would  go  there 
every  Sunday.  The  statement  was  incredible  on  the 
face  of  it;  Bill  frankly  didn't  know  what  to  think, 
but  there  it  was.  No  doubt  the  old  girl  meant  kind- 
ly. Perhaps  it  was  her  idea  of  bucking  him  up. 

In  his  letters  to  Melia  he  made  no  comment  on  the 
life  he  was  leading,  but  in  one  he  told  her  that  they 
had  moved  up  into  the  Line;  in  another  that  "the 
Boche  had  got  it  in  the  neck" ;  in  another  that  "he 
had  got  the  rheumatics  so  that  he  could  hardly  move," 
but  that  he  meant  to  carry  on  as  long  as  possible, 
adding,  "We  are  very  short  of  men." 

Somehow  the  letters  of  that  dark  winter  made  her 
more  proud  than  ever  of  this  man  of  hers.  There 
was  a  determined  note  of  quiet  cheerfulness  that  she 
had  never  known  in  him  before.  Instead  of  the  eter- 
nal grumbling  that  had  done  so  much  to  embitter  her, 
there  was  a  tone  of  whimsical  humor  which  at  a  time 
made  her  laugh,  although  as  a  general  rule  few  peo- 
ple found  it  harder  than  she  did  to  laugh  at  anything. 
She  had  little  imagination,  still  less  of  the  penetra- 
tion of  mind  that  goes  with  it,  but  there  was  one 
phrase  he  used  that  was  hard  to  forget.  In  one  let- 
ter he  was  tempted  to  complain  that  the  Boche  had 
taken  to  raiding  them  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  but 
he  added  a  postscript,  "It's  no  use  growsing  here." 

Somehow  that  phrase  stuck  in  her  mind.  When 
she  rose  before  daylight  in  the  bitter  mornings  of 
midwinter  to  light  the  kitchen  fire  and  prepare  a  meal 

178 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

she  would  have  to  eat  alone,  she  would  remember 
those  words  which  he  of  all  men  had  used,  he  who  was 
a  born  growser  if  ever  there  was  one.  "It's  no  use 
growsing  here."  She  tried  to  take  in  their  meaning, 
but  the  task  was  not  easy.  He  wrote  so  cheerfully 
that  he  could  hardly  mean  what  he  said.  And  it  was 
his  nearest  approach  to  complaint,  he  whose  life  in 
peace  time  had  been  one  long  complaint.  Now  and 
again  she  read  in  the  Tribune  of  things  that  made 
her  shiver.  Sometimes  in  the  winter  darkness  she 
awoke  with  these  things  in  her  mind.  Bill's  letters, 
however,  gave  no  details.  If  he  spoke  of  "a  scrap," 
he  did  so  casually,  without  embroidery,  yet  she  re- 
membered that  once  when  he  had  cut  his  thumb,  not 
very  badly,  he  fainted  at  the  sight  of  blood. 

Such  letters  were  a  puzzle;  they  told  so  little.  She 
couldn't  make  them  out.  Reading  between  the  lines, 
he  seemed  to  be  enjoying  life  more  than  he  had  ever 
done,  he  seemed  to  realize  the  humor  of  it  more.  It 
was  very  strange  that  it  should  be  so,  especially  on  the 
part  of  one  who  had  always  taken  things  so  hard. 
In  one  letter  he  said  that  spring  was  coming  and  that 
the  look  of  the  sky  made  him  think  of  the  crocuses 
along  Sharrow  Lane,  and  then  added  as  a  brief  post- 
script, "Stanning's  gone." 

Some  weeks  later  he  wrote  from  the  Base  to  say 
that  "he  had  had  a  whiff  of  gas,  nothing  to  speak  of," 
but  that  he  was  out  of  the  Line  for  a  bit.  And  then 
after  a  cheerful  letter  or  two  in  the  meantime,  he 

179 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

wrote  a  month  later  to  say  that  he  had  got  leave  for 
ten  days  and  that  he  was  coming  home. 

It  was  the  middle  of  June  when  he  turned  up  in 
Love  Lane  late  one  evening,  without  notice,  laden 
like  a  beast  of  burden,  looking  very  brown  and  well 
but  terribly  worn  and  shabby.  So  much  had  he 
changed  in  appearance  that  Melia  felt  it  would  have 
been  easy  to  pass  him  in  the  street  without  recogniz- 
ing him.  He  was  thin  and  gray,  even  his  features, 
and  particularly  his  eyes,  seemed  to  have  altered.  The 
tone  of  his  voice  was  different;  he  spoke  in  a  differ- 
ent way;  the  words  and  phrases  he  used  were  not 
those  of  the  William  Hollis  she  had  always  known. 

He  was  glad  to  be  back  in  his  home,  if  only  for  a 
few  days,  and  the  sight  of  him  with  his  heavy  pack 
and  his  gas  mask  and  his  helmet  laid  on  the  new  lino- 
leum in  the  little  sitting  room  behind  the  shop  gave 
her  a  deeper  pleasure  than  anything  life  had  offered 
her  so  far.  Strange  as  he  was,  new  almost  to  the 
point  of  being  somebody  else,  the  mere  sight  of  him 
thrilled  her.  She  was  thrilled  to  the  verge  of  happi- 
ness. It  was  something  beyond  any  previous  emo- 
tion. Long  ago  she  had  given  up  believing  that  ever 
again  he  would  appeal  to  her  in  the  way  of  that  brief 
time  which  had  been  once  and  had  passed  so  soon. 

He  took  off  his  heavy  boots  and  lit  his  pipe  and 
seemed  childishly  glad  to  be  home  again.  But  he 
didn't  talk  much.  He  sighed  luxuriously  and  smiled 
at  her  in  his  odd  new  way,  yet  he  was  interested  in 

1 80 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

the  excellent  supper  she  gave  him  presently  and  in 
the  account  she  furnished  of  the  business  which  was 
still  on  an  ascending  curve  of  prosperity.  The  old 
wound,  still  unhealed,  would  not  allow  her  to  praise 
her  father,  but  there  was  more  than  one  instance  to 
offer  of  that  tardy  repentance;  and  it  was  hard  to 
repress  a  note  of  pride  when  she  announced  that  he 
was  now  Mayor  of  Blackhampton  and  by  all  accounts 
a  good  one. 

She  tried  to  get  her  husband  to  speak  of  France, 
but  some  instinct  soon  made  it  clear  to  her  that  he 
wanted  to  forget  it.  He  could  not  be  induced  to  speak 
of  his  experiences,  made  light  of  his  "whiff  of  gas," 
but  confessed  it  was  hell  all  the  time;  he  also  said 
that  the  German  was  not  a  clean  fighter.  As  he  sat 
opposite  to  her,  eating  his  supper,  his  reticence  made 
it  impossible  for  her  to  realize  what  he  had  been 
through.  He  did  not  seem  to  realize  it  himself,  ex- 
cept that  in  a  subtle  way  he  was  altogether  changed. 

He  was  eight  days  at  home  and  they  spent  a  lot 
of  the  time  together.  They  had  a  new  kind  of  inti- 
macy; the  world  of  men  and  affairs  had  altered  for 
them  both.  Everything  came  to  them  at  a  fresh  an- 
gle. They  were  dwellers  in  another  atmosphere.  The 
most  commonplace  actions  meant  much  more;  events 
once  of  comparatively  large  importance  meant  much 
less.  She  half  suggested  that  they  should  go  up  on 
Sunday  afternoon  to  Strathfieldsaye,  but  the  idea 
evidently  did  not  appeal  to  him  and  she  did  not  press 

181 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

it.  Still  she  threw  out  the  hint,  because  it  was  an 
opportunity  to  let  bygones  be  bygones  and  she  was  sure 
that  he  would  meet  with  a  good  reception.  A  sense 
of  justice  impelled  her  to  be  grateful  to  her  father, 
much  as  she  disliked  him;  in  his  domineering  way  he 
had  tried  to  make  amends;  all  the  same  she  was  not 
sorry  that  Bill  was  determined  to  hold  himself  aloof. 
It  was  not  exactly  that  he  bore  a  grudge  against  her 
father;  at  the  point  he  had  reached  men  did  not  bear 
grudges,  but  he  had  some  decided  views  on  the  mat- 
ter and  they  gained  in  power  by  not  being  expressed. 

On  the  afternoon  of  Wednesday,  which  was  early 
closing  day  in  Blackhampton,  Bill  insisted  on  taking 
Melia  to  the  Art  Gallery.  It  was  in  the  historic  low- 
roofed  building  in  New  Square — which  dated  from 
the  Romans — known  as  the  old  Moot  Hall.  It  was 
now  the  home  of  one  of  the  finest  collections  of  pic- 
tures in  the  country.  Among  ancient  masterpieces 
and  some  modern  ones  were  several  characteristic  ex- 
amples of  his  friend,  Stanning,  R.A.,  whom  he  had 
carried  dying  into  a  dugout  not  four  months  ago. 

Corporal  Hollis  had  it  from  Sergeant  Stanning's 
own  lips  that  the  best  picture  he  had  ever  painted  was 
hung  in  the  middle  room,  and  that  it  was  not  the 
Sharrow  at  Corfield  Weir,  which  the  Corporal  him- 
self admired  so  much,  but  the  smaller,  less  ambitious 
piece  called,  "The  Leaves  of  the  Tree" — a  picture  of 
the  woods  up  at  Dibley  in  the  sunlight  of  October, 
stripped  by  the  winds  of  autumn,  with  the  bent  figure 

182 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

in  the  foreground  of  a  very  old  man  raking  the  dead 
leaves  together. 

They  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  it.  "As  the  leaves 
of  the  trees  are  the  lives  of  men."  That  legend  on 
the  gilt  frame  seemed  to  them  both  at  that  moment 
strangely,  terribly  prophetic.  Bill  did  not  tell  Melia 
as  they  stood  in  front  of  the  picture  that  he  had  risked 
his  own  life  in  a  vain  attempt  to  save  the  man  who 
had  painted  it,  nor  did  he  tell  her  that  the  blood  of 
the  artist  had  dyed  the  sleeves  of  his  tunic. 

The  large  room  was  empty  and  they  sat  down  sol- 
emnly on  the  settee  in  front  of  this  canvas,  looking 
at  it  in  silence,  yet  as  they  did  so  holding  the  hand 
of  each  other  like  a  pair  of  children.  Once  before 
had  they  sat  there,  in  the  early  days  of  their  mar- 
riage, when  he  had  talked  to  her  of  those  ambitions 
that  were  never  to  materialize.  And  now,  again,  with 
the  spirit  of  peace  upon  him  and  stirred  by  old  mem- 
ories, he  sighed  to  himself  and  spoke  for  a  moment 
or  two  of  what  might  have  been.  One  of  these  days 
he  had  hoped  to  do  something.  He  had  always  in- 
tended to  do  something  but  the  time  had  slipped  away. 

They  were  still  sitting  there  looking  at  the  picture 
when  two  people  came  into  the  room.  One  was  a 
commonplace  elderly  woman,  the  other  a  young  man 
in  khaki.  Although  they  were  totally  unlike  in  the 
superficialities  of  outward  bearing- it  was  easy  to  tell 
that  they  were  mother  and  son.  His  trained  move- 
ments and  upright  carriage,  his  poise  and  alertness, 

183 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

were  not  able  to  conceal  an  odd  resemblance  to  the 
wholly  different  person  at  his  side. 

William  and  Melia  were  concealed  by  the  high- 
backed,  wide-armed  settee  on  which  they  sat;  and 
as  these  two  people  came  up  the  room  and  took  up 
a  position  behind  it,  they  did  not  seem  to  realize  that 
they  could  be  overheard. 

"I  want  you,  mother,"  said  the  young  man  in  an 
eager  voice,  "to  look  at  what  to  my  mind  is  the  pic- 
ture of  this  collection.  Stand  here  and  you'll  get  it 
just  right." 

The  Corporal  and  his  lady  on  the  high-backed  settee 
offered  a  silent  prayer  that  the  young  man  had  as  much 
wisdom  and  taste  as  the  owner  of  such  a  clear,  con- 
fident voice  ought  to  have.  "As  the  leaves  of  the 
tree  are  the  lives  of  men."  The  Corporal  breathed 
more  freely;  the  young  man's  voice  had  not  belied 
him.  "Homer's  words."  He  reeled  off  pat  a  large- 
sounding  foreign  language.  "I  want  you  to  catch 
the  ghost  of  the  sun  glancing  through  these  wind- 
torn  branches.  You'll  get  the  light  if  you  stand  just 
here.  Wonderful  composition  .  .  .  wonderful  vision 
.  .  .  wonderful  harmony  .  .  .  wonderful  every- 
thing. The  big  artists  feel  with  their  eyes."  It  was 
charming  to  hear  the  voice  in  its  enthusiasm.  "They 
look  behind  the  curtain  of  appearances  as  you  might 
say.  The  life  of  man  is  but  the  shadow  of  a  shadow 
.  .  .  you  remember  that  bit  of  Lucretius  I  read  you 
last  night  ?  Look  at  the  figure  in  the  foreground  gath- 

184 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

ering  the  leaves.  Modern  critics  say  symbolism  is  not 
art,  but  it  depends  on  how  it's  done,  doesn't  it?  The 
eyes  of  the  mind  .  .  .  imagination  .  .  .  and  that's 
the  only  key  we  have  to  the  Riddle  of  the  Sphinx." 
He  ran  on  and  on,  laughing  like  a  child.  "Look  at 
his  color.  And  how  spacious! — imagination  there! — 
the  harmony,  the  drawing!  A  marvelous  draughts- 
man. If  he'd  lived  he'd  have  been  a  second  Torring- 
ton,  although  you  hear  people  say  that  Torrington 
couldn't  draw."  He  laughed  like  a  schoolboy  and 
then  his  voice  fell.  "I  like  to  think  that  Jim  Stan- 
ning  was  one  of  us,  that  he  was  born  among  us,  and 
it's  good  to  think  that  our  old  one-horse  Art  Commit- 
tee has  had  the  luck  to  buy  his  magnum  opus  with- 
out knowing  it.  They  paid  twice  as  much  for  Cor- 
field  Weir  in  the  other  room,  which  is  not  in  the  same 
class.  However  .  .  .  posterity.  .  .  ." 

Prattling  on  and  on  the  young  man  came  round  the 
corner  of  the  settee,  followed  by  the  old  lady. 

And  then  his  flow  of  words  failed  suddenly  as  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  William  and  Melia,  whose  pres- 
ence he  had  been  far  from  suspecting.  His  little  start 
of  guilt  betrayed  a  feeling  that  he  had  made  rather 
an  ass  of  himself,  for  he  said  half  shamefacedly, 
"Come  on,  my  dear,  let's  go  and  look  at  the  Weir. 
We'll  come  back  here  later."  The  Corporal  and  his 
lady  could  only  catch  a  glimpse  of  him  as  he  led  his 
mother  abruptly  into  the  next  room;  but  Melia  saw 
he  was  an  officer  with  two  pips  on  his  sleeve  and  that 

185 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

his  tunic  was  adorned  with  a  tiny  strip  of  white  and 
purple  ribbon  with  a  star  on  it.  In  answer  to  her 
questions  the  Corporal  was  able  to  inform  her  that 
the  young  man  was  a  Captain  in  the  B.B.  and  that 
his  decorations  was  the  M.C.  with  Bar. 

"And  he  looks  so  young!"  said  Melia. 

"A  very  good  soldier,"  said  the  Corporal  with  a 
professional  air. 

"Who  is  he,  Bill  ?    I  seem  to  remember  his  mother." 

"It's  young  Nixey,  the  architect." 

Of  course!  But  his  uniform  had  altered  him.  He 
looked  so  handsome.  And  that  was  Emma  Nixey — 
Emma  Price  that  was.  How  proud  she  must  be  to 
have  a  boy  like  that! 

"He's  a  good  soldier."  The  deep  voice  of  the  Cor- 
poral broke  in  upon  Melia's  thoughts.  "A  good  sol- 
dier— that  young  feller." 

"Bill,  you  remember  Emma  Price  that  used  to  live 
at  the  bottom  of  Piper's  Hill?"  There  was  a  note 
of  envy  in  the  tone  of  Melia. 

"I  remember  old  Price,  the  cobbler." 

"Emma  was  his  eldest  girl — no,  not  the  eldest. 
Polly  who  married  Ford,  the  ironmonger,  was  the 
eldest.  Emma  was  the  second.  Married  Harry  Nixey, 
whose  mother  kept  the  all-sorts  shop  in  Curwood 
Street.  A  drunken  fellow,  but  very  clever  at  his 
trade.  Bolted  with  another  woman  when  this  lad 
Harold  was  twelve  months  old.  Emma  never  saw  nor 
heard  of  him  again.  Went  to  Australia,  people  said 

186 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

at  the  time.  But  I'll  say  this  for  Emma,  she  was 
always  a  good  plucked  one." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  and  then  the  Cor- 
poral demanded  weightily,  "Has  she  any  others?" 

"He's  the  only  one.  But  brought  up  very  respect- 
able .  .  .  she's  managed  to  give  him  a  rare  good  edu- 
cation. How  she  did  it  nobody  knows.  Tremendous 
worker,  was  Emma.  But  that  boy  does  her  credit,  I 
must  say." 

"He  does  that."  The  Corporal  stared  hard  at  the 
picture  in  front  of  him.  "Nothing  like  education." 
He  sighed  softly.  "If  only  I'd  had  a  bit  of  education 
I  sometimes  think  I  might  have  done  something  my- 
self." 


XXIX 

ON  the  afternoon  of  the  day  before  the  Corporal 
returned  to  France  he  went  with  Melia  by  bus 
to  Sharrow  Bridge  and  they  walked  thence  to  Cor- 
field  Weir.  Many  hours  had  he  spent  with  rod  and 
tackle  in  this  hallowed  spot.  Those  were  the  only 
hours  in  his  drab  life  that  he  would  have  desired  to 
live  over  again.  Many  a  good  fish  had  he  played  in 
the  bend  of  the  river  below  the  famous  Corfield  Glade, 
much  commemorated  by  the  local  poets  in  whom  the 
town  and  county  were  exceptionally  rich.  In  par- 
ticular there  was  the  legend  of  the  fair  Mary  Cor- 
field who  in  the  days  of  Queen  Bess  had  cast  herself 
for  love  of  an  honest  yeoman  into  the  deep  waters 
of  the  Sharrow.  From  Bill's  favorite  tree,  where 
from  boyhood  he  had  spun  so  many  dreams  that  had 
come  to  naught,  could  be  seen  the  high  chimneys  of 
the  Old  Hall,  the  home  of  the  ill-fated  Mary,  about 
whose  precincts  her  ghost  still  walked  and  was  oc- 
casionally seen. 

The  day  was  perfect,  a  rare  golden  opulence  of  sky 
and  earth  with  a  sheen  of  beauty  on  wood  and  field 
and  flowing  water.  They  came  to  the  little  gnarled 
clump  of  alders,  his  old-time  friends,  whom  the  swift- 
flowing  Sharrow  was  always  threatening  to  devour, 

1 88 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

and  lay  side  by  side  in  the  shade,  on  the  dry  grass, 
listening  to  the  great  rats  plopping  into  the  cool  water. 

Both  were  very  silent  at  first;  it  was  as  if  nature 
spoke  to  them  in  a  new  way.  It  was  as  if  their  eyes 
were  bathed  in  a  magical  light.  All  the  things  around 
them  were  clearer  in  outline,  brighter,  sharper,  more 
visible.  Their  ears,  too,  were  attuned  to  a  higher  in- 
tensity. The  swirl  of  the  water,  the  rustle  of  leaves, 
the  cry  of  the  birds,  the  little  voice  of  the  wind,  were 
more  intimate,  more  harmonious,  more  audibly  full 
of  meaning.  The  world  itself  had  never  seemed  so 
richly  amazing,  so  gorgeously  inexhaustible  as  at  that 
moment. 

At  last  the  Corporal  broke  a  very  long  silence. 
"Mother,  it's  something  to  have  lived." 

Melia  did  not  answer  at  once,  but  presently  she 
sighed  a  little  and  said,  "I  wonder,  Bill." 

He  plucked  a  spear  of  grass.  "It's  a  rum  thing 
to  say,  but  if  it  hadn't  been  for  this  war  I  don't  sup- 
pose I  ever  should  have  lived,  really." 

She  didn't  understand  him,  and  her  large  round 
eyes,  a  little  like  those  of  a  cow,  told  him  so. 

"I've  always  been  thinking  too  much  about  it,  you 
see."  His  voice  was  curiously  gentle.  "All  my  life, 
as  you  might  say,  I've  always  been  telling  myself  what 
a  wonderful  day  it  was  going  to  be  to-morrow.  But 
to-morrow  never  comes,  you  see.  And  you  keep  on 
thinking,  thinking,  until  you  suddenly  find  that  to- 
morrow was  yesterday.  That's  how  it  was  with  me. 

189 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

And  if  I  hadn't  had  the  guts  to  join  up  just  when  I 
did,  my  belief  is  I  should  never  have  lived  at  all. 
Understand  me?" 

She  shook  a  placid  head  at  him,  not  understanding 
him  in  the  least.  But  this  was  the  mood  in  which 
he  had  first  captured  her,  in  which  he  had  first  im- 
pressed her  with  his  intellectual  quality,  for  which,  as 
a  raw  girl,  who  knew  nothing  about  anything,  she 
had  had  a  sort  of  reverence.  But  as  she  had  come  to 
see,  it  was  this  very  power  of  mind,  which  she  had  told 
herself  was  not  shared  by  other,  more  common  men, 
that  had  been  his  undoing,  that  had  brought  them 
both  to  the  verge  of  ruin.  It  was  fine  and  all  that, 
but  it  didn't  mean  anything.  It  was  just  a  kink  in 
the  machine  which  prevented  it  from  working  prop- 
erly. 

The  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes  as  she  listened  to  him, 
and  her  youth  and  his  came  back  to  her,  but  she  turned 
her  face  to  the  river  so  that  he  could  not  see  it.  Still 
it  was  not  all  pain  to  hear  him  talking.  It  was  the 
old,  old  way  that  she  had  loved  once  and  had  since 
despised,  but  now  lying  there  in  the  shade  of  those 
old  trees,  with  the  music  of  the  Weir  and  the  glory  of 
the  earth  and  the  sky  all  about  her,  she  loved  again. 
Strange  that  it  should  be  so!  But  the  sad  voice  at 
her  elbow  blended  marvelously  with  all  the  things 
she  could  see  and  hear.  And  what  it  said  was  quite 
true.  By  some  miracle  both  were  living  now  more 
fully  than  ever  before. 

190 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"I'll  always  have  one  regret,  Mother."  His  voice 
had  grown  as  deep  as  the  water  itself.  But  it  broke 
off  in  the  middle  suddenly. 

A  feeling  came  upon  her  that  she  ought  to  say 
something.  "Don't  let  us  have  no  regrets,  Bill." 
Those  were  the  words  she  wanted  to  utter.  "I'll  not 
have  none."  But  they  were  not  for  her  to  speak.  At 
that  moment  she  was  not  able  to  say  anything.  She 
waited  tensely  for  him  to  go  on  talking. 

In  the  odd  way  he  had,  which  was  a  part  of  his 
peculiar  faculty,  he  seemed  to  feel  what  was  passing 
in  her  mind.  "I'm  not  thinking  of  what  might  have 
been.  That's  no  good.  The  time's  gone  by.  I'm 
thinking  of  my  friend,  Stanning,  R.A.  You  see  we'd 
arranged  that  if  we  ever  had  the  chance  we'd  come 
here  for  a  day's  fishing.  We  had  a  bit  one  day  when 
we  were  up  in  the  Line — in  that  canal — the  Yser,  I 
think  they  call  it.  And  he  said,  'Auntie,  I  may  be 
able  to  tell  you  a  thing  or  two  about  drawing,  but 
when  it  comes  to  this  game  the  boot's  on  the  other 
leg.'  'Yes,'  I  said,  'that's  because  I've  put  my  heart 
into  it  while  you've  put  your  heart  into  something 
better.'  'Well,  I  don't  know  about  that,'  he  said — 
he  was  the  broadest-minded,  the  best  read,  the  wisest 
chap  I  ever  talked  to — 'nothing  is  but  thinking  makes 
it  so,  as  Hamlet,  that  old  crackpot  used  to  say.  What- 
ever you  happen  to  be  doing,  Auntie,  the  only  thing 
that  matters  is  whether  your  heart  is  in  it.'  'Yes,' 
I  said,  'I  daresay  you  are  right  there.  But  it's  one 

191 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

thing  to  catch  barbel.  It's  another  to  paint  Corfield 
Weir.' " 

To  Melia  this  seemed  like  philosophy.  And  she 
had  no  head  for  philosophy,  although  inclined  to  be 
a  little  proud  that  Bill  should  be  able  to  swim  in  these 
deep  waters  in  such  distinguished  company.  But  one 
thing  aroused  her  curiosity.  Why  was  this  man  of 
hers  called  Auntie? 

Bill  laughed  good  humoredly  when,  a  little  scan- 
dalized, she  came  to  put  the  question.  "They  all  call 
me  that  in  C  company."  His  frankness  was  remark- 
able. 

"But  why?" 

"They  say  I  was  born  an  old  woman." 

Melia  thought  it  was  like  their  impertinence  and 
did  not  hesitate  to  say  so. 

"Ah,  you  don't  know  the  Chaps,"  Bill  laughed 
heartily.  "The  Chaps  is  a  rum  crowd.  They  call  you 
anything." 

"But  to  your  face?"  Melia  couldn't  help  resent- 
ing it  and  spoke  with  dignity.  "You  oughtn't  to  let 
them,  Bill." 

"Why  not?" 

"You're  a  Corporal." 

"Well,  Stanning  was  a  sergeant,  you  see.  And  no- 
body means  nothing  by  it.  It's  a  way  they  have  in 
the  army  of  being  friendly  and  pleasant.  And  I 
daresay  it  suits  me.  My  fingers  is  all  thumbs  as  you 
might  say.  Fishing  and  a  bit  o'  gardening  are  the 

192 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

only  things  I'm  good  for,  although  Stanning  told  me 
that  in  time,  if  I  stuck  it,  I  might  be  able  to  draw. 
And  that  was  a  lot  for  him  to  say." 

Melia  thought  that  it  must  be. 

"I  often  wonder," — the  eyes  of  the  Corporal  were 
fixed  on  the  Sharrow — "what  made  Stanning  take  up 
with  a  chap  like  me.  There  was  lots  of  'em  in  C  com- 
pany with  far  more  education,  but  he  told  me  once 
that  I  was  the  same  kind  of  fool  that  he  was  and  I 
said  that  I  wished  it  was  so.  I  suppose  he  meant  that 
I  liked  to  talk  about  this  old  river  and  the  lights  on 
it  and  the  look  of  it  at  different  times  of  the  year. 
He  knew  every  yard  of  the  Sharrow  between  here 
and  Dibley  and  so  did  I,  but  he  could  see  things  that 
I  couldn't,  and  he  could  remember  'em  and  he'd  a  won- 
derful eye  for  nature.  He  wasn't  the  least  bit  of  a 
soldier,  no  more  than  myself,  but  he  made  a  first-rate 
job  of  it — he  was  the  kind  of  chap  who  would  make 
a  first-rate  job  of  anything.  Our  C.O.  wanted  him 
to  apply  for  a  commission,  but  he  said  he  couldn't  face 
the  responsibility.  That  was  queer,  wasn't  it,  in  a  man 
of  that  sort? — for  he  was  a  man,  I  give  you  my 
word."  The  Corporal  plucked  another  spear  of  grass 
and  began  to  chew  it  pensively.  "He  had  a  cottage 
up  at  Dibley,  that  largish  white  one  on  the  left,  stand- 
ing back  from  the  road,  you  know  the  one  I  mean — 
the  one  with  the  iron  gate,  and  that  funny  sort  of  a 
tower  at  the  end  of  the  garden." 

Melia  said  she  did  know,  although  she  had  half  for- 
193 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

gotten  it,  but  she  hadn't  been  to  Dibley  since  they  were 
first  married,  and  that  was  a  long  time  ago. 

"It  belonged  to  Torrington  the  artist.  He  lived 
and  died  there.  Stanning  said  he  was  the  greatest 
painter  of  landscape  that  ever  lived,  but  nobody  knew 
it  while  he  was  alive  and  he  died  in  poverty.  Not  that 
it  mattered.  Stanning  said  that  money  doesn't  matter 
to  an  artist,  but  he  said  that  many  an  artist  had  been 
ruined  by  making  it  too  easy." 

This  dictum  of  Stanning's  sounded  odd  in  the  ear 
of  Melia.  No  one  could  be  ruined  by  making  money 
too  easily,  but  she  had  not  the  heart  to  contradict  his 
disciple  who  was  still  chewing  grass  and  looking  up 
at  the  sky. 

"See  what  I  mean,  Mother?" 

"Makes  them  take  to  drink  and  gambling,  I  sup- 
pose." After  all,  there  was  that  solution. 

"Stanning  meant  that  if  an  artist  gets  money  too 
easy  it'll  take  the  edge  off  his  work.  He  was  always 
afraid  that  was  what  was  going  to  happen  to  himself. 
In  1913  he  made  six  thousand  pounds — think  on  it, 
Mother,  six  thousand  pounds  in  one  year  painting  pic- 
tures! He  said  that  was  the  writing  on  the  wall  for 
him;  he  said  it  was  as  much  as  Torrington  made  in 
all  his  life  and  he  lived  beyond  eighty.  'And  I'm  nof 
fit  to  tie  Torrington's  shoelace,  Auntie.'  I  laughed 
at  that,  of  course,  but  he  was  not  a  man  to  want  but- 
ter. 'I  mean  it,  my  dear.'  If  he  liked  you  he  had 
a  way  of  calling  you  'my  dear,'  like  one  girl  does  to 

194 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

another.  'Torrington  was  the  only  man  that  ever 
lived  who  could  handle  sunlight.  That's  the  test  for  a 
painter.  If  I  touch  sunlight  I  burn  holes  in  the  can- 
vas.' Of  course,  I  laughed,  but  Stanning  was  a  very 
humble  chap  when  he  talked  about  his  own  paintings." 
Suddenly  the  Corporal  realized  that  he  had  let  his 
tongue  run  away  with  him,  as  it  did  sometimes.  Melia 
was  getting  drowsy.  He  got  up,  therefore,  and 
stretched  his  legs  on  the  soft  turf  and  then  he  said, 
"Let  us  go  across  to  the  Corfield  Arms  and  see  if  we 
can  get  a  cup  of  tea.  And  then  if  you  feel  up  to  it 
we'll  walk  through  the  Glade  as  far  as  Dibley  and 
look  at  the  house  that  Torrington  lived  in." 


XXX 

THEY  went  across  to  the  Corfield  Arms.  It  was 
an  old,  romantic  looking  inn,  spoiled  a  little  in 
these  later  days  by  contiguity  to  a  great  hive  of  com- 
merce. But  there  were  occasions,  even  now,  when  it 
retained  something  of  the  halo  of  ancient  peace  it 
was  wont  to  bear;  and  the  afternoon  being  Friday 
was  an  off  day  for  visitors.  When  Bill  and  Melia 
passed  through  the  bowling  green  at  the  back  of  the 
house  to  the  arbor  where  last  they  had  sat  in  the  days 
of  their  courtship  they  found  it  empty. 

In  the  garden  by  the  arbor  an  old  man  was  plucking 
raspberries.  He  turned  out  to  be  the  landlord,  and  to 
the  secret  gratification  of  Melia  he  addressed  Bill  as 
"sir,"  out  of  deference  to  his  uniform.  Upon  receiv- 
ing the  Corporal's  commands  he  called  loudly  for 
"Polly." 

In  two  shakes  of  a  duck's  tail  Polly  appeared:  a 
blithe  beauty  in  a  clean  lilac  print  dress,  a  little  shrunk 
in  the  wash,  which  showed  to  advantage  the  lovely 
lines  of  her  shape  and  the  slender  stem  of  a  brown 
but  classic  neck  in  which  a  nest  of  red-gold  hair  hung 
loose.  The  Corporal  ordered  a  royal  repast  for  two 
persons;  a  pot  of  tea,  boiled  eggs,  bread  and  butter, 

196 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

cake,  and  a  little  of  the  honey  for  which  the  house 
used  to  be  famous. 

While  they  waited  for  the  tea,  the  Corporal  gave 
the  old  chap  a  hand  with  the  raspberries.  "Happen 
you  remember  Torrington,  the  artist  who  lived  up 
at  Dibley?" 

"Aye."  The  old  man  remembered  him  without  dif- 
ficulty. "Knew  him  well  when  I  was  young.  Soft 
Jack  we  used  to  call  him;  an  old  man  and  just  a  bit 
touched  like  as  I  remember  him.  Long  beard  he  had 
and  blue  eyes — wonderful  blue  eyes  had  that  old  fel- 
ler. Out  painting  in  the  open  all  day  long,  in  all 
weathers.  I  used  to  stand  for  hours  and  watch  him. 
He'd  paint  a  bit,  and  then  he'd  paint  it  out,  and  then 
he'd  paint  it  in  again.  'Course  he  was  clever,  you 
know,  in  a  manner  of  speaking.  Nobody  thought  much 
of  him  then,  but  in  these  days,  if  you'll  believe  me, 
I've  known  people  come  specially  from  London  to  ask 
about  him." 

The  Corporal  turned  to  Melia  with  an  air  of  discreet 
triumph.  But  Melia  was  so  drowsy  that  she  said  she 
would  go  into  the  arbor  until  the  tea  came.  She 
was  encouraged  to  do  so  while  the  landlord  went  on, 
"I  was  a  bit  of  a  favorite  with  old  Soft  Jack.  Many's 
the  boy  I've  lammoxed  for  throwing  stones  at  his 
easel.  Of  course,  at  the  time  I  speak  of,  the  old  chap 
had  got  a  bit  tottery;  he  lived  to  be  tight  on  ninety. 
But  as  I  say  nobody  thought  much  of  him,  yet  if  you'll 
believe  me  it's  only  last  year,  or  the  year  before  last — 

197 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

I'm  getting  on  myself — that  a  college  gentleman  came 
down  here  to  write  a  book  about  him.  A  very  nice 
civil-spoken  gentleman;  but  fancy  writing  a  book 
about  old  Soft  Jack!" 

"Ever  buy  any  of  his  pictures?" 

"My  father  did.  Gave  as  much  as  five  pounds  for 
one,  more  out  of  charity  than  anything,  I've  heard 
him  say,  but  if  you'll  believe  me  when  the  old  boy  was 
dead  my  father  sold  that  picture  for  twenty  pounds, 
and  they  tell  me — I've  not  seen  it  myself — that  that 
picture  is  now  in  our  Art  Gallery,  and  the  college  gen- 
tleman I'm  speaking  of — I  forget  his  name — says  folk 
come  from  all  parts  of  the  world  to  look  at  it." 

"Happen  there  was  the  sun  in  it,"  said  the  Corporal. 

"Very  like.  Most  of  his  pictures  had  the  sun  in 
'em,  what  I  remember.  You  know  they  do  say  that 
that  old  chap  could  look  at  the  sun  with  the  naked  eye. 
And  such  an  eye  as  it  was — like  an  eagle's,  even  when 
he  was  old  and  past  it." 

"Got  any  of  his  pictures  now  ?" 

"Can't  say  I  have.  My  father  had  one  or  two  odd 
bits,  but  he  sold  'em  or  gave  'em  away.  No  good 
having  a  picture,  I've  heard  the  dad  say,  unless  you've 
a  frame  to  put  it  in.  And  frames  was  dear  in  those 
days.  If  you'll  believe  me,  the  frame  often  cost  more 
than  the  picture." 

"Pity  you  haven't  one  or  two  by  you  now.  They 
do  say  all  Torrington's  pictures  are  worth  a  sight  o' 
money." 

198 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"Shouldn't  wonder.  Money's  more  plentiful  now 
than  it  used  to  be.  My  father  was  'mazed  when  he 
got  twenty  pounds  for  the  one  he  sold,  and  he  heard 
afterwards  it  fetched  as  high  as  fifty.  But  I'm  speak- 
ing, of  course,  of  when  the  old  man  was  dead.  That 
reminds  me,  the  old  chap,  being  very  hard  up,  painted 
our  signboard.  It  wants  a  fresh  coat  now,  but  it's 
wonderful  how  it's  lasted." 

The  Corporal,  in  his  devotion  to  art,  ceased  to  pick 
raspberries,  and  accompanied  by  his  host,  went  to 
look  at  the  expression  of  Soft  Jack's  genius  upon  the 
ancient  front  of  the  Corfield  Arms.  As  they  crossed 
the  bowling  green  they  came  upon  the  smiling  and 
gracious  Polly,  who  bore  a  tea  tray  heavily  laden. 

"Lady's  in  the  summerhouse."  The  gallant  Cor- 
poral returned  smile  for  smile.  "Tell  her  to  pour 
out  the  tea  and  I'll  be  along  in  a  jiffy." 

The  signboard,  after  all,  was  not  much  to  look  at. 
The  arms  of  the  Corfields  consisted  in  the  main  of  a 
rampant  unicorn,  reft  by  the  weather  of  a  good  deal 
of  paint.  But  even  here,  by  some  miracle,  the  sun- 
light was  shining  on  the  noble  horns  of  the  fabulous 
animal,  but  whether  the  phenomenon  was  due  to  pure- 
ly natural  causes  on  this  glorious  afternoon  of  July, 
or  whether  the  great  artist  was  personally  responsi- 
ble for  it  was  more  than  Corporal  Hollis  was  able  to 
say.  It  needed  the  trained  eye  of  a  Stanning,  R.A., 
or  of  a  young  Nixey,  the  architect,  to  determine  the 
point,  but  in  the  right-hand  corner  of  the  signboard 

199 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

beyond  a  doubt,  as  the  landlord  was  able  to  indicate 
with  an  air  of  pride,  was  Soft  Jack's  monogram,  J.  T. 
Somehow  the  monogram  saved  the  signboard  itself 
from  being  a  washout  as  a  work  of  art,  and  the  Cor- 
poral felt  grateful  for  it  as  he  returned  to  the  arbor 
to  drink  tea  with  his  wife,  while  the  landlord,  less 
of  a  critic,  went  back  to  the  raspberries  in  his  pro- 
lific garden. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

AFTER  an  excellent  tea  William  and  Melia  went 
up  the  road  to  Dibley.  It  was  two  miles  on  and 
they  took  a  path  of  classic  beauty,  fringed  by  a  grove 
of  elms  in  which  the  rooks  were  cawing,  along  a 
carpet  of  green  bracken  through  which  the  lovely 
river  wound.  Dibley  stood  high,  at  the  crest  of  a 
great  clump  of  woodland,  with  the  Sharrow  silver- 
breasted  below  surging  through  a  glorious  valley. 

It  was  getting  on  for  twenty  years  since  Bill  had 
last  handed  Melia  over  the  stile  at  the  top  of  the 
glade,  famous  in  song  and  story,  and  they  had  de- 
bouched arm  in  arm  past  the  vicarage,  along  the  bridle 
path,  and  had  threaded  their  way  through  a  nest  of 
thatched  cottages  to  the  village  green.  The  sun  had 
now  waned  a  little  and  the  air  had  cooled  on  these 
shaded  heights,  the  tea  had  been  refreshing,  and,  for 
a  few  golden  moments,  inexpressibly  sweet  yet  tragi- 
cally fleeting,  the  courage  of  youth  came  back  to  them. 
Just  beyond  the  parson's  gate  the*  Corporal  stopped 
suddenly,  took  Melia  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

It  was  a  sloppy  thing  to  do,  unworthy  of  old  mar- 
ried people,  but  the  guilt  of  the  act  was  upon  them, 
though  neither  knew  exactly  why  it  should  have  come 
about.  They  crossed  the  paddock  and  went  on  through 

201 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

the  romantic  village,  so  sweetly  familiar  in  its  change- 
lessness.  It  seemed  but  yesterday  since  they  walked 
through  it  last. 

"I've  wondered  sometimes,"  whispered  the  Cor- 
poral at  the  edge  of  the  green,  "what  made  you  marry 
me?" 

"I  believed  in  you,  Bill;  I  always  believed  in  you." 
It  was  a  great  answer,  yet  somehow  it  was  unexpected. 
In  his  heart  he  knew  he  was  not  worthy  of  it  and 
that  seemed  to  make  it  greater  still. 

Facing  the  duck  pond,  at  the  far  end  of  the  green, 
was  the  white  cottage  in  which  Torrington  the  artist 
had  lived  and  died.  It  had  changed  a  bit  since  his 
time.  Things  had  been  added  by  his  more  opulent 
successor.  There  were  an  iron  gate,  a  considerable 
garden  and  a  tall  tower  with  a  glass  roof  which  nobly 
commanded  the  steep  wooded  slopes  of  the  valley  of 
the  Sharrow. 

With  the  new  eyes  a  great  painter  had  given  him 
Bill  saw  at  once  that  this  was  a  rare  pitch  for  an  ar- 
tist. It  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots  in  the 
land.  The  immense  city  of  Blackhampton  with  its 
thousands  of  chimneys  and  its  roaring  factories  might 
have  been  a  hundred  miles  off  instead  of  a  bare  four 
miles  down  the  valley.  There  was  not  a  glimpse  or  a 
sound  of  it  here  in  this  peace-haunted  woodland,  in 
this  enchantment  of  stream  and  hill,  bathed  in  a  pomp 
of  golden  cloud  and  magic  beauty. 

The  simple  cottage  had  been  modernized  and  am- 
202 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

plified,  but  with  rare  tact  and  cunning,  so  that  it  was 
still  "all  of  a  piece,"  much  as  Torrington  had  left. 
But  the  house  itself  was  empty,  with  green  shutters 
across  the  windows.  On  the  gate  was  a  padlock,  the 
reason  for  which  was  given  in  a  printed  bill  stuck  on 
a  board  that  had  been  raised  beside  it. 

By  order  of  the  executors  of  the  late  James  Stanning, 
Esqre.,  A.R.A.,  to  be  sold  by  auction  the  valuable  and  his- 
torical property  known  as  Torrington  Cottage  Dibley,  to- 
gether with  the  following  furniture  and  effects. 

A  list  followed  of  the  furniture  and  effects,  but 
across  the  face  of  the  bill  was  pasted  a  diagonal  red- 
lettered  slip, 

This  property  has  been  sold  by  private  treaty. 

The  Corporal  tried  to  open  the  gate  but  found  the 
padlock  unyielding,  and  then  he  gazed  at  the  notice 
wistfully. 

"Wonder  who's  bought  it,"  he  said. 

Melia  wondered  too. 

"Hope  it's  an  artist,"  said  the  Corporal. 

"So  do  I.    But  I  expect  it  isn't.    Artists  is  scarce." 

"You're  right,  there."  The  Corporal  sighed  heav- 
ily. "Artists  is  scarce."  There  was  a  strange  look  in 
his  eyes  and  he  turned  them  suddenly  upon  the  duck 
pond  so  that  Melia  shouldn't  notice  it. 

Across  the  road,  beside  the  duck  pond,  was  a  wood- 
en bench,  sacred  to  the  village  elders,  none  of  whom, 
however,  was  in  occupation  at  this  moment.  The 

203 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Corporal  pointed  to  it.  "Let's  go  an'  set  there  a  min- 
ute," he  said  in  a  husky  voice.  As  if  she  had  been  a 
child  he  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  to  it. 

They  sat  down  and  in  a  moment  or  two  it  was  as  if 
the  spirit  of  the  place  had  descended  upon  them.  The 
magic  hush  of  evening  crept  into  their  blood  like  a 
subtle  wine.  A  strange  soft  rapture  seemed  to  per- 
vade the  air.  The  Unseen  spoke  to  them  as  never 
before. 

The  Corporal  took  off  his  hat  and  wiped  the  dew 
from  his  forehead.  And  then  with  a  queer  tighten- 
ing of  the  throat  and  breast  he  scanned  earth  and  sky. 
They  seemed  marvelous  indeed.  He  felt  them  speak 
to  him,  to  the  infinite,  submerged  senses  whose  pres- 
ence he  had  hardly  suspected.  Never  had  he  experi- 
enced such  awe  as  now  in  the  presence  of  this  peace 
that  passed  all  understanding. 

In  a  little  while  the  silence  of  the  Corporal  began  to 
trouble  Melia.  A  cold  hand  crept  into  his.  "What 
is  it,  love?"  she  said  softly. 

Not  daring  to  look  at  her,  he  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on 
the  sky. 

"What  is  it,  love — tell  me?"  He  hardly  knew  the 
voice  for  hers;  not  until  that  moment  had  he  heard 
her  use  it;  but  it  had  the  power  to  ease  just  a  little  the 
intolerable  pressure  of  his  thoughts. 

"I  was  wondering,"  he  said  slowly,  at  last,  "whether 
it  would  not  have  been  better  never  to  have  been 
born." 

204 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

She  shivered,  not  at  his  words,  but  at  the  gray  look 
on  his  face. 

"Stanning  said  the  night  before  he  went  he  thought 
that  taking  it  altogether  it  would  have  been  better  if 
there  had  never  been  a  human  race  at  all.  I'll  never 
forget  that  last  talk  with  him,  not  if  I  live  to  be  a 
hundred — which  I  shall  not."  The  Corporal  had  be- 
gun to  think  his  thoughts  aloud.  "You  see,  he  knew 
then  that  his  number  was  up.  I  can  see  him  settin' 
there,  Mother,  just  as  you  are  now,  lookin'  at  that  old 
sunset,  his  back  to  that  old  canal — the  Yser,  I  think 
they  call  it — an'  stinkin'  it  was,  fair  cruel.  'Auntie,' 
he  said  suddenlike,  'tell  me  what  brought  you  into 
this?'  I  said,  'No,  boy' — just  like  a  child  he  was  as  he 
set  there — 'it's  for  me  to  ask  you,  that  question. 
You're  a  big  gun,  you  know,  a  shining  light;  I'm  a 
never-was-er.'  That  seemed  to  make  him  laugh;  he 
was  one  that  could  always  raise  a  laugh,  even  when 
he  felt  most  solemn.  'I  come  of  a  long  stock  of  high- 
nosed  old  Methodists/  he  said.  'Always  made  a  thing 
they  call  Conscience  their  watchword  and  -fetish. 
There  was  a  Stanning  went  to  the  stake  for  it  in  the 
time  of  Bloody  Mary;  there  was  another  helped  Oliver 
Cromwell  to  cut  the  head  off  King  Charles.  A  poi- 
sonous, uncomfortable  crowd,  and  all  my  life  they've 
seemed  to  come  back  and  worry  me  just  at  the  times 
I  should  have  been  most  pleased  to  do  without  them. 
People  talk  about  free  will — but  there  isn't  such  a 
thing,  my  dear.' 

20; 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"I  allowed  that  there  wasn't  in  my  case.  Then  I 
told  him  about  Troop  Sergeant  Major  Hollis,  who 
fought  at  Waterloo.  'Yes,'  he  said,  'yours  is  an  old 
name  in  the  city,  older  than  mine,  I  dare  say.'  'Well/ 
I  said,  'according  to  Bazeley's  Annals  there  was  a 
William  Hollis  who  was  mayor  of  the  borough  in  the 
year  of  the  Spanish  Armada.'  'Good  for  you,  Auntie,' 
he  said,  chaffing-like ;  he  was  a  rare  one  for  chaff. 
'One  up  to  you.  Then,'  he  said,  'there  was  William 
Hollis  who  was  "some"  poet  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, who  wrote  the  famous  romantic  poem,  "The 
Love  Lorn  Lady  of  Corfield."  Still,'  he  said,  'these 
things  don't  explain  you  dragging  your  old  bones  to 
rot  out  here.'  'They  do  in  a  way,  though,'  I  said. 
'When  we  come  up  against  a  big  thing  it  isn't  us  that 
really  matters,  it's  what's  at  the  back  of  us.  I  used 
to  set  in  my  old  garden  on  The  Rise,'  I  said,  'in  those 
early  days  when  those  dirty  dogs  opposite  was  just 
beginning  to  wipe  their  feet  on  Europe.  And  I  said  to 
myself,  Bill  Hollis,  how  would  you  like  it  if  they 
broke  through  the  fence  into  your  garden,  trampling 
your  young  seeds  and  goose-stepping  all  over  your 
roses  and  your  tulips.  And  I  tell  you,  Jim — we  got 
to  be  very  familiar  those  last  few  weeks — it  used  to 
make  me  fair  mad  to  read  in  the  Tribune  what  they'd 
done  .  .  .  Louvain  one  time  .  .  .  Termondy  another 
.  .  .  et  cetera.  .  .  .  And  I  kept  on  settin'  there  day 
after  day,  in  my  old  garden  on  the  top  o'  The  Rise, 
saying  to  myself,  Hollis,  it's  no  use,  me  lad,  you're  go- 

206 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

ing  into  this.  You've  failed  in  every  bloody  thing  so 
far,  and  if  you  take  on  this  you'll  not  be  man  enough 
to  stick  it  out.  War  isn't  thinking,  it's  doing,  and 
you've  never  been  a  doer,  you've  not.  Then  I  read  in 
the  Tribune  one  morning  that  they'd  got  Antwerp  and 
I  said  to  myself,  I  can't  stand  this  no  more.  And  I 
went  right  away  to  the  Duke  of  Wellington  and  had 
a  liquor  up — but  only  a  mild  one,  you  know — and 
then  round  the  corner  to  the  Recruiting  Office  and 
gave  my  age  as  thirty-six  and  here  I  am  admiring  this 
bleeding  sunset  with  the  eye  of  an  artist.' 

"That  made  him  laugh  some  more.  'Well,  Auntie,' 
he  said,  'I'm  very  proud  to  have  known  you  and  I 
hope  you'll  do  me  the  honor  of  accepting  this  as  a 
keepsake/  He  unbuttoned  his  greatcoat  and  took  this 
old  watch  out  of  his  tunic." 

The  Corporal  paused  an  instant  in  his  story  to  fol- 
low the  example  of  his  friend.  He  produced  an  old- 
fashioned  gold  hunting  watch,  with  J.  T.  in  mono- 
gram at  the  back,  and  handed  it  to  Melia. 

"It's  a  rare  good  one,  Mother,"  the  Corporal's  voice 
was  very  low,  "solid  gold."  He  opened  the  lid  and 
showed  her  the  inscription: 

To  John  Torrington,  Esquire,  from  a  Humble  Ad- 
mirer of  His  Genius,  1859. 

"Stanning  said,  'I  had  the  luck  to  buy  that  in  a 
pawnshop  in  Blackhampton  long  after  he  was  dead, 
and  if  I  had  had  a  boy  of  my  own  I  should  like  him 

207 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

to  have  kept  it  as  an  heirloom,  but  as  I  have  not  I 
want  you  to  take  it,  Auntie,  because  I  know  you'll 
appreciate  it.'  Somehow,  I  could  tell  from  the  way 
he  spoke  that  he  was  done.  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  re- 
fuse it,  although  I  hadn't  a  boy  or  a  girl  of  my  own 
neither."  A  huskiness  in  the  Corporal's  throat  made 
it  hard  to  go  on  for  a  moment.  "  'I'm  only  thirty- 
nine,'  he  said,  'and  all  the  best  is  in  me.  I  don't  fancy 
having  my  light  put  out  like  this  in  a  wet  bog,  but  it's 
got  to  come,  my  dear.  I  hate  to  think  that  sometime 
to-morrow  I  shall  be  as  if  I  had  never  been.'  'Not 
you,'  I  said.  'You're  sickening  for  the  fever.'  But  I 
couldn't  move  him.  He'd  got  the  hoo-doo.  'No  use 
taJking  about  it,'  he  said,  'but  you  and  I'll  never  have 
that  day's  fishing  in  Corfield  Weir.  I  should  like  you 
to  have  seen  my  cottage  up  at  Dibley.  It's  got  the 
ghost  of  that  old  boy.'  He  put  his  hand  on  the  watch, 
Mother,  just  like  this.  'If  there  is  a  heaven  for  dead 
painters,  and  I  doubt  it,  I'd  like  to  sit  in  John  Tor- 
rington's  corner  on  his  right  hand.  You  see,  I've 
learned  all  sorts  of  things,  living  in  his  house.  I  was 
getting  to  know  the  lights  on  the  Sharrow  and  the 
feel  of  the  clouds — in  all  the  great  Torringtons  the 
clouds  feel  like  velvet — and  he  was  going  to  show  me 
the  way  to  handle  sunlight — I've  already  been  twice 
across  to  New  York  to  see  "An  Afternoon  in  July  in 
the  Valley  of  the  Sharrow,"  the  most  wonderful 
thing  of  its  kind  in  existence.  You  get  the  view  from 
my  cottage — his  cottage — at  Dibley.  I  should  like  you 

208 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

to  have  seen  it,  Auntie.  And  then  I  should  like  to 
have  taken  you  across  to  New  York  to  show  you  what 
old  John  made  of  it.  Fancy  having  to  go  all  the  way 
to  New  York  to  look  at  it.  So  like  us  to  be  caught  on 
the  hop,  in  the  things  that  really  matter/  I  give  you 
my  word,  Mother,  he  raised  a  laugh  even  then,  but  of 
a  sudden  his  voice  went  all  queer-like.  'However,'  he 
said,  'there's  a  Mind  in  this  that  knows  more  than  we 
do.'  Then  the  lad  began  to  shiver  just  as  if  he  had 
the  ague.  And  the  next  day,  about  the  same  time, 
or  mayhap  the  perishin'  old  sun  had  gone  a  bit  more 
west,  I  had  to  go  out  across  No  Man's  Land  to  bring 
him  in  ...  what  there  was  left  of  him." 

The  Corporal  ended  his  strange  story  as  if  after  all 
it  didn't  much  matter.  He  was  quite  impersonal,  but 
Melia  sat  beside  him  shivering  at  the  look  in  his  eyes. 
Never  before  had  the  veil  been  torn  aside  in  this  way. 
She  was  a  dull  soul,  fettered  heavily  by  her  limita- 
tions, but  sitting  there  in  the  growing  dusk  it  came 
on  her  almost  with  horror  that  in  all  those  long  years 
it  was  the  first  peep  she  had  had  behind  the  scenes  of 
his  mind.  She  hadn't  realized  the  kind  of  man  he 
was.  More  than  once  she  had  cast  it  in  his  face  that 
he  was  an  idle  shack-about.  Somehow,  there  had  been 
nothing  to  give  her  the  key  to  him;  and  now,  miracu- 
lously as  it  seemed,  it  had  come  to  her,  it  was  too  late. 

She  had  the  key  to  him  now.  But  the  sands  were 
running  out  in  fate's  hour  glass.  She  couldn't  bear  to 
look  at  his  thin  gray  face  as  the  light  fell  on  it,  nor  at 

209 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

his  strange  eyes  fixed  on  the  padlocked  gate  of  the 
cottage  opposite.  Of  a  sudden  the  watch  slipped 
from  her  shaking  hands,  and  fell  lightly  in  a  little 
brake  of  thistles  by  the  end  of  the  bench  on  which  they 
sat. 

Cautiously  and  carefully  he  picked  it  out.  "Take 
care  on  it,  Mother,"  he  said  softly  as  he  put  it  again 
in  her  hands.  "I  wish  we'd  a  little  boy  as  could  have 
had  it.  However,  we've  not.  There  was  once  a 
George  Hollis  who  was  an  artist;  I  showed  you  that 
picture  of  his,  "The  Glade  above  Corfield,"  the  other 
day;  Jim  said  it  was  a  good  one.  John  Torrington 
one  time  was  his  pupil.  Don't  suppose  he  was  any 
relation  but  it's  the  same  name." 

Melia  put  the  watch  in  the  pretty  leather  bag  he 
had  insisted  on  buying  for  her.  And  then  she  said 
with  a  horrible  clutch  in  her  throat:  "Bill,  promise! 
You'll  come  back  .  .  .  won't  you?" 

His  eyes  didn't  move. 

"I'll  be  that  lonely." 

He  sighed  softly  like  a  child  who  is  very  tired.  "I'll 
do  what  I  can,  Mother."  The  voice  was  gentleness  it- 
self. "I  can't  do  more." 

She  didn't  know  .  .  .  she  didn't  realize  .  .  .  what 
.  she  .  .  was  . 


XXXII 

THEY  sat  hand  in  hand  on  the  bench  by  the 
duck  pond  until  the  shadows  began  to  lengthen 
along  the  valley  of  the  Sharrow.  For  quite  a  long 
time  they  didn't  speak,  but  at  last  their  reverie  was 
broken  by  the  sight  of  a  dusty  figure  with  a  sack  on 
its  back  shambling  along  the  road  towards  them.  It 
was  the  village  postman. 

"Who's  bought  the  cottage  opposite?"  the  Corporal 
asked. 

"Zur?"  said  the  postman. 

The  Corporal  repeated  his  question. 

"They  do  sey,  zur,"  said  the  postman  in  slow,  im- 
pressive Doric,  "the  Mayor  o'  Blackhampton  has 
bought  it." 

"What— Alderman  Munt?"  The  voice  of  the  Cor- 
poral was  full  of  dismay. 

"The  Mayor  o'  Blackhampton,  zur.  Come  here  the 
other  day  in  a  motey  car  to  look  at  it.  Large  big 
genelman  in  a  white  hat." 

The  heart  of  the  Corporal  sank.  What  the  hell  had 
he,  of  all  people,  to  go  buying  it  for!  Somehow  the 
postman  had  shattered  the  queer  sad  little  world  in 
which  they  sat.  A  feeling  of  desperation  came  sud- 
denly upon  the  Corporal.  He  rose  abruptly  from 

211 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

the  bench.  "Come  on,  Mother,"  he  said,  "if  we  don't 
get  along  we'll  be  late  for  supper." 

"Don't  want  no  supper,  Bill." 

But  the  Corporal  was  firm. 

"I'd  like  to  stop  here  all  night,"  Melia  said  as  she 
rose  limply  from  the  bench.  "I'd  like  to  stop  here 
forever." 

That  was  the  desire  uppermost  in  the  Corporal 
also,  but  it  would  not  do  to  admit  it. 

Down  the  road,  hand  in  hand,  like  two  children 
out  late,  they  trudged  in  the  gathering  dusk  to  Cor- 
field.  It  was  a  perfect  evening.  Just  a  little  ahead 
was  one  faint  star;  over  to  the  left  in  the  noble  line 
of  woods  that  overlooked  the  river  they  could  hear 
the  nightingale.  Once  they  stopped  and  held  their 
breaths  to  listen.  They  saw  the  rabbits  dart  from 
among  the  ferns  at  their  feet  and  run  before  them 
along  the  white  road.  The  evening  pressed  ever  closer 
upon  them  as  they  marched  slowly  on,  until,  at  a  turn 
in  the  road,  Corfield  with  its  fruit  orchards  came  into 
view. 

It  was  a  long  trek  home  but  they  were  in  no 
hurry  to  get  there.  By  the  time  they  had  come  to 
the  old  stone  bridge  which  spanned  the  broad  river 
and  united  the  country  with  the  town  it  was  quite 
dark  and  the  lamps  of  the  city  were  shining  in  the 
distance. 

Midway  across  the  bridge  they  stopped  to  take  one 
last  look  at  the  Sharrow  gleaming  down  its  valley. 

212 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Since  the  afternoon  this  mighty  symbol  which  from 
earliest  childhood  had  dominated  their  every  recollec- 
tion seemed  to  have  gained  in  power,  in  magic  and  in 
mystery. 


XXXIII 

THE  hard  and  difficult  months  wore  on.     Sum- 
mer passed  to  autumn;  Europe  was  locked  in 
the  most  terrible  conflict  the  world  had  ever  seen,  but 
there  was  no  sign  of  a  decision. 

Like  Britain  herself,  Blackhampton  was  in  the  war 
to  the  last  man  and  the  last  shilling.  From  the  mo- 
ment the  plunge  had  been  taken  the  conscience  and  the 
will  of  this  brotherhood  of  free  peoples  had  been  in 
grim  unison  behind  the  action  of  its  government.  The 
war  was  no  affair  of  sections  or  of  classes;  the  issue 
was  so  clear  that  there  was  no  ground  for  misunder- 
standing it. 

For  years  it  had  been  freely  declared  that  Britain 
was  past  her  zenith,  that  disintegration  had  already  be- 
gun, that  England  herself  was  enervated  with  pros- 
perity. At  the  outset  the  enemy  in  making  war  had 
counted  on  the  fact  too  confidently.  Britain  would 
not  dare  to  enter  the  struggle,  she  who  was  suffering 
from  fatty  degeneration  of  the  soul,  or  if  in  the  end 
she  was  driven  into  the  whirlpool  in  spite  of  herself 
she  would  prove  a  broken  reed  in  this  strife  for  hu- 
man freedom. 

214 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

These  were  dangerous  heresies,  even  for  a  race  of 
supermen,  and  nowhere  in  the  oldest  of  free  com- 
munities was  the  task  of  dispelling  it  undertaken  more 
vigorously  than  in  Blackhampton.  As  its  archives 
bore  witness  it  had  a  long  and  proud  record.  No 
matter  what  great  national  movement  had  been  afoot 
in  the  past,  Blackhampton,  the  central  city  of  England, 
geographically  speaking,  had  invariably  reacted  to  it 
with  force  and  urgency. 

Among  the  many  virile  men  who  strove  to  meet  a 
supreme  occasion,  none  deserved  better  of  his  country, 
or  of  his  fellow  citizens  than  Mr.  Josiah  Munt.  He 
was  of  a  type  suited  beyond  all  others  to  deal  with 
the  more  obvious  needs  of  a  time  that  called  for  the 
unsparing  use  of  every  energy;  he  had  a  genius  of  a 
plain,  practical,  ruthless  kind;  he  was  the  incarnation 
of  "carry-on"  and  "get  things  done." 

From  the  first  hour  he  took  off  his  coat  and  buckled 
to.  He  worked  like  a  leviathan.  No  day  was  too  long 
for  him,  no  labor  too  arduous;  his  methods  were 
rough  and  now  and  again  the  clatter  he  made  was  a 
little  out  of  proportion  to  the  amount  of  weight  he 
pulled  in  the  boat.  His  life  had  been  one  of  limited 
opportunity,  but  he  had  a  knack  of  seeing  the  thing 
to  be  done  and  of  doing  it.  People  soon  began  to  real- 
ize that  he  was  the  right  man  in  the  right  place,  and 
that  as  a  driving  force  he  was  a  great  asset  to  the  city 
of  Blackhampton. 

The  war  was  about  fifteen  months'  old  when  Alder- 
215 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

man  Munt  was  chosen  mayor  of  Blackhampton.  He 
took  up  an  office  that  was  by  no  means  a  sinecure  at  a 
very  critical  moment.  But  it  was  soon  clear  that  a 
wise  choice  had  been  made;  a  certain  Britishness  of 
character  of  the  right  bull-dog  breed  did  much  to  keep 
a  population  of  two  hundred  and  eighty-six  thousand 
souls  "up  to  the  collar."  Somehow,  the  rude  force 
and  the  native  honesty  of  the  man  appealed  to  the 
popular  imagination;  if  a  prophet  is  ever  honored  in 
his  own  country  it  is  in  time  of  war. 

During  his  mayoralty  Josiah  Munt  came  to  occupy 
a  place  in  the  minds  of  his  own  people  that  none  could 
have  predicted.  When  the  grim  hour  struck  which 
altered  the  face  of  the  world  and  changed  the  whole 
aspect  of  human  society  few  could  have  been  found 
to  say  a  word  in  favor  of  the  proprietor  of  the  Duke 
of  Wellington.  He  had  begun  low  down,  in  a  com- 
mon part  of  the  town ;  and,  although  there  was  really 
nothing  against  him,  his  name  was  never  in  specially 
good  odor,  perhaps  for  the  reason  that  he  bore  ob- 
vious marks  of  his  origin  and  because  the  curves  of 
his  mind  were  too  broad  for  him  to  care  very  much 
about  concealing  them.  In  the  general  opinion  he 
had  been  a  very  "lucky"  man,  financially  successful 
beyond  his  merits,  and  for  that  reason  arrogant.  But 
in  the  throes  of  the  upheaval  preconceived  ideas  were 
soon  shed  if  they  did  not  happen  to  square  with  the 
facts;  and  it  took  considerably  less  than  a  year  for 
Josiah  to  prove  to  his  fellow  townsmen  that  the  god- 

216 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

dess  Fortune  is  not  always  the  capricious  fool  she  has 
the  name  of  being. 

Even  in  the  stress  of  a  terribly  strenuous  twelve 
months  the  Mayor  of  Blackhampton,  like  the  wise 
man  he  was,  insisted  upon  taking  his  annual  fort- 
night's holiday  at  Bridlington.  He  had  not  missed  his 
annual  fortnight  at  Bridlington  once  in  the  last  thirty 
years.  It  did  him  so  much  good,  he  was  able  to 
work  so  much  the  better  for  it  afterwards,  that,  as 
he  informed  Mr.  Aylett  the  Town  Clerk,  on  the  eve 
of  departure  in  the  second  week  of  August,  "it  would 
take  more  than  the  likes  o'  the  Kaiser  to  keep  him 
from  the  seaside." 

Like  a  giant  refreshed  the  Mayor  returned  to  his 
civic  duties  at  the  end  of  the  month.  His  leisure  at 
Bridlington  had  been  enlivened  by  the  company  of 
the  Mayoress,  by  Mrs.  Doctor  Cockburn  and  her  two 
children,  and  also  by  Miss  Gertrude  Preston,  who  for 
quite  a  number  of  years  now  had  helped  to  beguile 
the  tedium  of  her  brother-in-law's  annual  rest  cure. 

As  soon  as  the  Mayor  returned  to  the  scene  of  his 
labors  he  found  there  was  one  very  important  ques- 
tion he  would  have  to  decide.  In  his  absence  the  City 
fathers  had  met  several  times  to  discuss  the  matter  of 
his  successor  and  had  come,  in  some  cases  perhaps  re- 
luctantly, to  the  conclusion  that  none  but  himself  could 
be  his  peer.  According  to  the  aldermanic  roster,  Mr. 
Limpenny  the  maltster  was  next  in  office,  but  that 
wise  man  was  the  first  to  own  that  he  had  not  the 

217 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

driving  power,  or  the  breadth  of  appeal  of  the  present 
mayor. 

In  ordinary  times  that  would  not  have  mattered, 
but  the  times  were  very  far  from  ordinary.  War 
was  making  still  sterner  demands,  week  by  week,  upon 
every  man  and  woman  in  the  country.  Blackhampton 
had  done  much,  as  every  town  in  England  had,  but 
its  temporal  directors  felt  that  no  effort  must  be  re- 
laxed, and  that  it  was  ever  increasingly  their  duty  "to 
keep  it  up  to  the  collar."  And  Josiah  Munt  now  filled 
the  popular  mind. 

The  very  qualities  which  in  the  gentler  days,  not  so 
long  ago,  had  aroused  antagonism  were  at  a  premium 
now.  For  superfine  people  the  Mayor  was  a  full- 
blooded  representative  of  a  distressing  type,  but  it 
was  now  the  reign  of  King  Demos :  all  over  the  island 
from  Westminster  itself  to  the  parish  hall  of  Little 
Pedlington-in-the-Pound  the  Josiah  Munts  of  the 
earth  had  come  at  last  by  their  own.  On  every  public 
platform  and  in  every  newspaper  was  to  be  found  a 
Josiah  Munt  haranguing  the  natives  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  thereby  guaranteeing  his  political  vision  and  his 
mental  capacity.  King  Demos  is  not  a  rose  born  to 
blush  unseen;  he  knows  everything  about  everything 
and  he  is  not  ashamed  to  say  so.  With  a  fraction  of 
his  colossal  mind  he  can  conduct  the  most  delicate  and 
far-reaching  military  operations,  involving  millions  of 
men,  and  cotthtless  tons  of  machinery  to  which  even 
a  Napoleon  or  a  Clausewitz  might  be  expected  to  give 

218 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

his  undivided  attention ;  with  another  he  is  able  to  in- 
sure that  the  five  million  dogs  of  the  island,  mainly 
untaxed,  shall  continue  to  pollute  the  unscavengered 
streets  of  its  most  populous  cities;  with  another  he  is 
able  to  devise  a  Ministry  of  Health;  with  another  he 
can  pick  his  way  through  the  maze  of  world  politics, 
and  recast  the  map  of  Europe  and  Asia  on  a  basis  to 
endure  until  the  crack  of  doom;  with  yet  another  he 
can  devise  a  new  handle  for  the  parish  pump. 

King  Demos  is  indeed  a  bright  fellow.  And  in  Mr. 
Josiah  Munt  he  found  an  ideal  representative.  Hap- 
pily for  Blackhampton,  although  there  were  places 
of  even  greater  importance  who  in  this  respect  were 
not  so  well  off,  he  was  a  man  of  rude  honesty.  He 
said  what  he  meant  and  he  meant  what  he  said;  he 
was  no  believer  in  graft,  he  did  not  willfully  mislead; 
he  was  not  a  seeker  of  cheap  applause ;  and  in  matters 
of  the  public  purse  he  had  a  certain  amount  of  public 
conscience.  As  Mr.  Aylett  the  town  clerk  said  in  the 
course  of  a  private  conversation  with  Mr.  Druce  the 
chairman  of  the  Finance  Committee,  "His  worship  is 
not  everybody's  pretty  boy,  but  just  now  we  are  lucky 
to  have  him  and  we  ought  to  be  thankful  that  he  is 
the  clean  potato." 

Therefore,  within  a  week  of  his  return  from  Brid- 
lington,  the  Mayor  was  met  by  the  request  of  the  City 
fathers  that  he  should  take  office  for  another  year. 
Josiah  was  flattered  by  the  compliment,  but  he  felt 

2IQ 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

that  it  was  not  a  matter  he  could  decide  offhand. 
"He  must  talk  to  the  wife." 

At  dinner  that  evening  at  Strathfieldsaye,  when  the 
question  was  mooted,  the  hapless  Maria  was  over- 
come. Only  heaven  knew,  if  heaven  did  know,  how 
she  had  contrived  to  fill  the  part  of  a  Mayoress  for 
so  many  trying  months.  She  had  simply  been  count- 
ing the  days  when  she  could  retire  into  that  life  of 
privacy,  from  which  by  no  desire  of  her  own  had  she 
emerged  It  was  too  cruel  that  the  present  agony 
should  be  prolonged  for  another  year,  and  although 
her  tremulous  lips  dare  not  say  so  her  eyes  spoke  for 
her. 

"What  do  you  say,  Mother?"  His  worship  proudly 
took  a  helping  of  potatoes. 

Maria  did  not  say  anything. 

"A  compliment,  you  know.  Limpenny's  next  in, 
but  the  Council  is  unanimous  in  asking  me  to  keep  on. 
I  don't  know  that  I  want  to,  it's  terrible  work,  great 
responsibility  and  it  costs  money;  but,  between  you 
and  me,  I  don't  see  who  is  going  to  do  it  better. 
Comes  to  that,  I  don't  see  who  is  going  to  do  it  as 
well.  Limpenny's  a  gentleman  and  all  that,  college 
bred  and  so  on,  but  he's  not  the  man  somehow.  Give 
Limpenny  his  due,  he  knows  that.  He  button-holed 
me  this  morning  after  the  meeting  of  the  Council. 
'Mr.  Mayor/  he  said — Limpenny's  one  o'  those  precise 
think-before-you-speak  sort  o'  people — 'I  do  hope 
you'll  continue  in  office.  To  my  mind  you're  the  right 

220 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

man  in  the  right  place.'  I  thought  that  very  decent 
of  Limpenny.  Couldn't  have  spoken  fairer,  could 
he?" 

The  hapless  Maria  gave  an  audible  sniff  and  dis- 
continued the  eating  of  war  beef. 

"Well,  Mother,  what  do  you  say?  The  Council 
seems  to  think  that  I've  got  the  half  nelson  on  this 
town.  So  Aylett  said.  A  bit  of  a  wag  in  his  way,  is 
that  Aylett  He  said  I'd  got  two  hundred  and  eighty- 
six  thousand  people  feeding  from  the  hand.  That's 
an  exaggeration,  but  I  see  what  he  means;  and  he's 
a  man  of  considerable  municipal  experience.  Smart- 
est town  clerk  in  England,  they  tell  me.  'It's  all  very 
well,  Mr.  Aylett,'  I  said,  'but  I'll  have  to  talk  to  the 
Mayoress.  And  I'll  let  you  have  an  answer  to-mor- 
row.' " 

The  hapless  Maria  declined  gooseberry  fool  prof- 
fered by  the  respectful  Alice. 

"Don't  seem  to  be  eating,  Mother,"  said  his  worship. 
"Aren't  you  well?  I  expect  it's  the  weather." 

Maria  thought  it  must  be  the  weather;  at  any  rate 
it  could  be  nothing  else. 

"Want  a  bit  more  air,  I  think,"  said  Josiah  in  the 
midst  of  a  royal  helping  of  a  favorite  delicacy.  "Just 
roll  back  those  sunblinds,  Alice,  and  let  in  a  bit  o' 
daylight" 

The  sphinx-like  Alice  carried  out  the  order. 

"And  open  the  doors  a  bit  wider." 

Alice  impassively  obeyed. 
221 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"Would  you  like  a  nip  of  brandy?  The  weather,  I 
suppose.  Very  hot  to-day.  Temperature  nearly  a 
hundred  this  morning  in  the  Council  Chamber.  We'll 
have  some  new  ventilators  put  in  there  or  I'll  know 
the  reason.  At  the  best  of  times  there's  a  great  deal 
too  much  hot  air  in  the  Council  Chamber.  And  when 
you  get  a  hot  summer  on  the  top  of  it  ...  !  Alice, 
go  and  get  some  brandy  for  the  Mistress." 

Exit  Alice. 

"You'll  feel  better  when  you've  had  a  drop  of 
brandy.  Antiquated  things  those  ventilators  at  the 
City  Hall.  Aylett  thinks  they've  been  there  since  the 
time  of  Queen  Anne.  But  they're  not  the  only  things 
I'm  going  to  scrap  if  I  hold  office  another  year. 
There's  too  much  flummery  and  red  tape  round  about 
Corporation  Square.  Tradition  is  all  very  well  but 
we  want  something  practical." 

Alice  entered  with  a  decanter. 

"Ah,  that'll  put  you  right.  A  little  meat  for  the 
Mistress,  Alice.  Never  mind  the  soda.  It'll  not  hurt 
you,  Mother.  Prime  stuff  is  that  and  prime  stuff 
never  does  harm  to  no  one.  Some  I've  had  by  me 
at  the  Duke  of  Wellington  for  many  a  year." 

At  first  the  Mayoress  was  very  shy  of  the  brandy, 
prime  stuff  though  it  was,  but  his  worship  was  ada- 
mant, and  after  a  moment  or  two  of  half-hearted  re- 
sistance Maria  seemed  the  better  for  her  lord's  in- 
flexibility. 

"Talkin'  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington  .  .  .  funny 
222 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

how  things  work  out !  When  we  went  in  there  in  '79, 
you  and  me,  we  little  thought  we  should  be  where  we 
are  now,  in  the  most  important  time  in  history.  That 
reminds  me.  Alice,  just  ring  up  the  Tribune  Office 
and  give  the  editor  my  compliments  and  tell  him  I've 
arranged  to  speak  to-morrow  at  the  Gas  Works  at 
twelve  o'clock  and  they  had  better  send  a  reporter." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

"Alice!" 

Alice  halted  sphinx-like  at  the  door. 

"Wait  a  minute.  I'll  go  myself!"  Josiah  plucked 
his  table  napkin  out  of  his  collar.  "Nothing  like  do- 
ing a  thing  while  it's  fresh  in  your  mind.  And  do 
it  yourself  if  you  want  it  done  right.  I  must  have 
a  word  with  Parslow  the  editor.  The  jockey  he  sent 
to  Jubilee  Park  to  report  the  flower  show  didn't  know 
his  business.  The  most  important  part  of  the  speech 
was  left  out."  He  laid  down  his  table  napkin  and 
rose  determinedly.  "Nice  thing  in  a  time  like  this 
for  the  Mayor  of  the  City  not  to  be  fully  reported. 
I've  half  a  mind  to  tell  that  Parslow  what  I  think 
of  him.  Some  people  don't  seem  to  know  there's  a 
war  on." 

Five  minutes  later  when  Josiah  returned  in  triumph 
to  his  gooseberries  he  found  Maria  reclining  on  the 
sofa  with  her  feet  up,  next  the  window  opening  on  to 
the  spacious  lawns  of  Strathfieldsaye.  The  impas- 
sive but  assiduous  handmaid  was  fanning  her  mistress 
with  a  handkerchief. 

223 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"That's  right,  Alice!"  Josiah  sat  down  with  an 
air  of  satisfaction.  He  was  not  indifferent  to  the 
sufferings  of  Maria,  but  of  recent  years  she  seemed 
to  have  developed  a  susceptibility  to  climatic  condi- 
tions perhaps  a  little  excessive  for  the  wife  of  one  who 
at  heart  was  still  a  plain  man.  She  had  a  proneness 
to  whims  and  fancies  now  which  in  robuster  days  was 
lacking.  He  could  only  ascribe  it  to  a  kind  of  mis- 
placed fineladyism,  and  he  didn't  quite  approve  it. 

"I  spoke  pretty  straight  to  the  Tribune  ...  to  the 
subeditor.  I  said  I  hoped  they  fully  realized  their 
duty  to  the  public  and  also  to  the  Empire,  but  that 
I  sometimes  doubted  it.  He  seemed  a  bit  huffed,  I 
thought  .  .  .  but  you'll  see  I'll  be  reported  to-morrow 
all  right.  I'll  look  after  your  mistress,  Alice.  Go  and 
get  the  coffee." 

When  Alice  returned  with  the  coffee  she  found  the 
Mayor  vigorously  fanning  the  Mayoress  with  a  table 
napkin,  and  she  was  peremptorily  ordered  "to  nip  up- 
stairs for  a  bottle  of  sal  volatile." 


XXXIV 

THERE  was  honest  satisfaction  in  the  town  when 
it  was  known  that  the  Mayor  had  consented  to 
remain  another  year  in  office.  Most  people  agreed 
that  it  was  a  good  thing  for  Blackhampton.  But  the 
Mayoress  took  to  her  bed. 

Could  she  have  had  her  way  she  would  never  have 
got  up  again.  For  many  years  now  life  had  been  a 
nightmare  of  ever-growing  duties,  of  ever-increasing 
responsibilities.  Her  conservative  temperament  re- 
sisted change.  She  had  not  wanted  to  leave  the  Duke 
of  Wellington  for  the  comparative  luxury  of  Water- 
loo Villa,  she  had  not  wanted  to  leave  Waterloo  Villa 
for  the  defiant  grandeur  of  Strathfieldsaye.  When 
she  was  faced  with  a  whole  year  as  Mayoress  she  fully 
expected  to  die  of  it,  and  perhaps  she  would  have  died 
of  it  but  for  the  oblique  influence  of  Gertrude  Pres- 
ton ;  but  now  she  was  threatened  with  a  further  twelve- 
months of  the  same  embarrassing  public  grandeur  she 
was  compelled  to  review  her  attitude  towards  an  early 
demise. 

Maria  knew  that  if  she  allowed  her  light  to  be  put 
out  Gerty  had  the  makings  of  a  highly  qualified  suc- 
cessor. No  one  was  better  at  shaking  hands  with  a 

225 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

grandee,  no  one  had  a  happier  knack  of  saying  the 
right  word  at  the  right  time;  and  neither  the  Mayor 
nor  the  Mayoress,  particularly  the  latter,  knew  what 
they  would  have  done  without  her.  Gerty,  in  fact, 
had  become  a  kind  of  unofficial  standard  bearer  and 
henchwoman  of  a  great  man.  Every  piece  of  gossip 
she  heard  about  him  was  faithfully  reported,  every 
paragraph  that  appeared  in  the  paper  was  brought  to 
his  notice,  she  flattered  him  continually  and  made  him 
out  to  be  no  end  of  a  fellow ;  and  in  consequence  poor 
Maria  was  bitten  with  such  a  furious  jealousy  that 
she  would  like  to  have  killed  her  designing  but  indis- 
pensable step-sister. 

When  Maria  took  to  her  bed,  the  Mayor  promptly 
requested  the  accomplished  Gertrude  to  do  what  she 
could  in  the  matter. 

"Josiah,  she  must  show  Spirit."  As  always  that 
was  her  specific  for  the  hapless  Maria,  and  at  the  re- 
quest of  his  worship  she  went  at  once  to  the  big  bed- 
room, from  whose  large  bay  windows  a  truly  noble 
view  of  the  whole  city  and  the  open  country  beyond 
was  to  be  obtained,  and  as  Josiah  himself  expressed 
it,  "proceeded  to  read  the  riot  act  to  the  Mayoress." 

The  Mayoress  was  in  bed,  therefore  she  had  to  take 
it  lying  down.  For  that  matter  it  was  her  nature  to 
take  all  things  lying  down.  But  in  her  heart  she  had 
never  so  deeply  resented  the  obtrusion  of  Gerty  as 
at  this  moment.  She  wanted  never  to  get  up  any 
more,  but  if  she  didn't  get  up  any  more  this  meddle- 

226 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

some  and  dangerous  rival  would  do  as  she  liked  with 
Josiah,  and  in  all  human  probability  as  soon  as  the 
lawful  Mayoress  was  decently  and  comfortably  in  her 
grave  she  would  marry  him. 

It  was  really  Gerty  who  kept  the  Mayoress  going; 
not  by  the  crude  method  of  personal  admonition,  how- 
ever forcible  its  use,  but  by  the  subtle  spur  that  one 
mind  may  exert  upon  another.  Maria  had  to  choose 
between  showing  spirit  and  allowing  the  odious  Gerty 
to  wear  the  dubious  mantle  of  her  grandeur. 

Hard  was  the  choice,  but  Mother  Eve  prevailed  in 
the  weak  flesh  of  the  lawful  Mayoress.  She  made  a 
silent  vow  that  Gerty  should  not  marry  Josiah  if  she 
could  possibly  help  it.  Yes,  she  would  show  spirit. 
Cruel  as  the  alternative  was,  she  would  be  Mayoress 
a  second  year.  Even  if  she  died  of  it,  and  in  her 
present  frame  of  mind  she  rather  hoped  she  would, 
she  alone  should  sit  in  the  chair  of  honor  at  the  An- 
nual Meeting  of  the  British  Women's  Tribute  to  the 
Memory  of  Queen  Boadicea,  she  alone  should  take 
precedence  of  the  local  duchess  and  the  county  ladies 
at  the  annual  bazaar  in  aid  of  the  Society  for  Pro- 
viding Black  and  White  Dogs  with  Brown  Biscuits. 

Maria,  however,  in  her  present  low  state,  consented 
to  Gerty  deputizing  for  her  at  the  review  of  the  Girl 
Scouts  in  the  Arboretum.  She  was  reluctant  to  make 
even  that  minor  concession — it  was  the  thin  end  of 
the  wedge! — but  it  had  been  intimated  to  Josiah  that 
the  Mayoress  was  always  expected  to  say  a  few  words 

227 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

on  this  spirited  occasion.     This  was  altogether  too 
much  for  Maria  in  the  present  condition  of  her  health. 

Before  the  Girl  Scouts,  Gerty  bore  herself  in  a  man- 
ner that  even  Miss  Heber-Knollys,  the  august  princi- 
pal of  the  High  School  for  Young  Ladies,  who  was 
present,  a  perfect  dragon  of  silent  criticism,  could 
hardly  have  improved  upon.  The  Mayor  at  any  rate 
was  delighted  with  his  sister-in-law's  performance, 
drove  her  back  in  triumph  to  Strathfieldsaye  and  in- 
sisted on  her  staying  to  dinner. 

The  hapless  Maria,  after  nearly  three  weeks  of  the 
peace  and  sanctity  of  her  chamber,  had  struggled  down 
to  tea  for  the  first  time.  She  sat  forlornly  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, a  white  woolen  shawl  over  her  ample  shoul- 
ders. It  had  been  a  real  relief  to  allow  Gerty  to  depu- 
tize for  her,  but  now  that  the  hour  of  trial  was  past 
Maria  was  inclined  to  despise,  for  the  moment  at  any 
rate,  the  human  weakness  that  had  played  into  the 
hands  of  a  highly  dangerous  schemer.  It  would  have 
been  so  easy  to  have  done  it  oneself,  after  all;  it  was 
such  a  simple  thing,  now  that  it  was  safely  over ! 

Gerty  consumed  a  pickelet  and  drank  two  cups  of 
tea  with  an  air  of  rectitude,  while  Josiah  recited  the 
story  of  the  afternoon  for  the  delectation  of  Maria. 
He  was  so  well  satisfied  with  the  performance  of  the 
deputy  that  the  lawful  Mayoress  began  to  scent  dan- 
ger. "Gert  says,"  the  Mayor  informed  her,  "that  if 
you  don't  feel  up  to  it  she'll  distribute  the  prizes  on 
the  Fifth,  at  the  Floral  Hall." 

228 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

The  Mayoress  drew  in  her  lips,  a  sign  that  she  was 
thinking.  She  might  be  able  to  manage  the  Fifth,  as 
"a  few  words"  were  not  expected,  although,  of  course, 
they  were  always  welcome. 

Josiah,  however,  was  not  inclined  to  press  the  mat- 
ter. Maria  seemed  rather  worried  by  her  duties  as 
Mayoress  and  Gerty  having  had  greater  experience  in 
that  kind  of  thing  and  having  already  done  extremely 
well  in  the  Arboretum,  it  now  occurred  to  the  Mayor 
that  it  might  be  possible  to  arrange  with  the  Town 
Clerk  for  her  to  take  over  the  duties  permanently  in 
his  second  year  of  office.  "I  don't  say  the  Council  will 
consent,"  said  Josiah.  "It  may  be  a  bit  irregular. 
But  they  know  you're  not  strong,  Mother.  I  was 
careful  to  tell  them  that  when  I  consented  to  keep  the 
job  on.  So  the  way  is  paved  for  you,  as  you  might 
say,  if  you  really  don't  feel  up  to  it.  Anyhow,  I'll 
hear  what  Aylett  has  to  say  about  it.  No  man  in 
England,  they  tell  me,  is  a  safer  guide  in  matters  of 
municipal  practice.  If  Aylett  thinks  it  will  be  all  right, 
I'm  sure  Gerty  won't  mind  acting  as  Mayoress." 

"Delighted,  Josiah!"  Gerty's  bow  and  smile  were 
positively  regal;  they  were  modeled,  in  point  of  fact, 
upon  those  of  Princess  Mawdwin  of  Connemara,  the 
most  celebrated  bazaar-opener  of  the  period. 

The  Mayoress  drew  in  her  lips  still  further.  She 
began  to  think  very  seriously.  No  human  Mayoress 
could  have  been  in  lower  spirits  or  have  felt  less  equal 
to  her  duties  than  did  Maria  at  that  moment,  but  if 

229 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Gerty  was  allowed  to  usurp  the  honors  and  the  digni- 
ties so  undubitably  hers  it  would  be  very  hard  to  bear. 
The  whole  thing  was  so  like  Gerty.  Always  a 
schemer;  in  spite  of  her  soft  manners  and  her  pussy- 
cat ways,  always  at  heart  a  grabber.  The  Mayoress 
felt  that  if  the  weak  state  of  her  health  called  for  a 
deputy,  and  really  it  seemed  to  do  so,  she  would  have 
preferred  the  Queen  of  Sheba  herself  to  the  design- 
ing Gertrude.  For  years  she  had  been  able  to  twist 
Josiah  round  her  little  finger.  So  like  a  man  to  be 
taken  in  by  her!  So  like  a  man  not  to  be  able  to 
see  what  a  Fox  of  a  woman  she  really  was. 

Unfortunately  Maria  had  reason  to  fear  that  she 
was  very  ill,  indeed.  She  was  afraid  of  her  heart. 
It  is  true  that  three  times  within  the  past  fortnight 
Horace,  Doctor  Cockburn,  had  solemnly  assured  his 
mother-in-law  that  there  was  nothing  the  matter  with 
it.  But  thinking  the  matter  over,  as  day  after  day 
she  lay  in  her  miserable  bed,  she  had  come  to  the 
conclusion  that  Horace  was  a  modern  doctor  and  that 
a  modern  doctor  could  hardly  be  expected  to  under- 
stand that  old-fashioned  organ,  the  heart. 

She  had  made  up  her  mind,  therefore,  to  have  a 
second  opinion.  She  would  go  to  a  heart  specialist, 
a  man  who  really  knew  about  hearts.  As  a  fact  she 
had  already  made  up  her  mind  to  have  the  opinion  of 
Dr.  Tremlett  who  humored  her,  who  understood  her 
system  and  its  ways.  Horace,  who  was  so  modern, 
rather  smiled  at  Dr.  Tremlett — he  was  careful  not  to 

230 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

go  beyond  a  smile  at  Doctor  Tremlett,  although  his 
demeanor  almost  suggested  that  he  might  have  done 
so  had  not  etiquette  intervened. 

The  Mayoress,  therefore,  was  now  placed  in  a  diffi- 
cult position  by  the  success  of  a  base  intriguer.  She 
didn't  know  what  to  do.  Three  days  ago  her  mind 
had  been  made  up  that  she  would  put  herself  in  the 
hands  of  Doctor  Tremlett,  but  if  she  did  that  she  was 
quite  sure  that  Doctor  Tremlett,  a  physician  of  the  old 
school  who  knew  how  important  the  heart  was  in 
every  human  anatomy  and  therefore  treated  it  with 
the  utmost  respect,  would  not  allow  her  to  go  over- 
doing it.  Her  time  would  be  divided  between  her  bed 
and  the  drawing-room  sofa;  he  would  most  probably 
insist  on  a  trained  nurse — Doctor  Tremlett  really  re- 
spected the  heart — and  the  trained  nurse  would  mean, 
of  course,  that  the  Mayoress  had  abdicated  and  that 
the  way  was  open  for  the  treacherous  Gertrude  with 
her  pussy-cat  ways  to  take  over  the  duties  perma- 
nently. 

It  was  a  dilemma.  And  it  was  made  needlessly 
painful  for  the  Mayoress  by  the  blindness  and  folly  of 
the  Mayor;  in  some  ways  so  very  able,  in  others  he 
was  such  a  shortsighted  man!  Really,  he  ought  to 
have  seen  what  Gerty  was  up  to.  So  like  a  man  to 
be  completely  taken  in  by  her.  One  of  her  own  sex 
would  have  seen  at  a  glance  that  Gertrude  was  a 
Deep  one. 

It  was  a  most  difficult  moment  for  the  Mayoress. 
231 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Either  she  must  be  false  to  Doctor  Tremlett  and  give 
up  her  heart  or  she  would  have  to  submit  tamely  to 
the  rape  of  her  grandeur  and  have  it  flaunted  in  her 
face  by  a  Designing  creature.  Heaven  knew  that  she 
had  no  taste  herself  for  grandeur,  but  Gerty  had  a 
very  decided  taste  for  it  and  there  was  the  rub! 

"Have  a  piece  of  this  excellent  pickelet,  Josiah!" 
That  smile  and  that  manner  were  very  winning  to 
some  eyes  no  doubt,  but  those  of  Maria  were  not  of 
the  number.  That  coat  and  skirt,  how  well  they  hung 
upon  her !  Gerty  had  always  had  a  slim  figure.  Some 
people  thought  her  figure  very  genteel,  but  again  Ma- 
ria was  not  of  the  number.  Some  people  also  thought 
her  voice  was  very  ladylike — Josiah  did  for  one.  La- 
di-da  the  Mayoress  called  it.  Simpering  creature! 
Even  if  the  pickelet  was  excellent  it  didn't  need  her 
to  say  so.  What  had  she  to  do  with  the  pikelet  ?  And 
there  was  Josiah  submitting  to  her  like  a  lamb  and 
talking  to  her  about  the  Town  Clerk  and  the  City 
Council  and  wondering  whether  she  would  mind  giv- 
ing him  a  hand  on  the  Fifth  at  the  Floral  Hall. 

"I'll  be  delighted,  Josiah — simply  delighted.  Any- 
thing to  help.  If  I  can  be  the  slightest  use  to  you — 
and  to  Maria." 

That  precious,  "And  to  Maria,"  brought  a  curl  to 
the  lip  of  the  lawful  Mayoress.  Designing  hussy! 
So  like  a  man  not  to  see  through  her.  Maria  felt  her- 
self slowly  turning  green.  The  heart  has  been  known 
to  take  people  that  way. 

232 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"Gert  is  staying  to  dinner,  Mother.  Hope  Billing 
sent  up  that  salmon." 

Billing  had  sent  up  the  salmon,  the  Mayor  was 
meekly  informed  by  the  Mayoress. 

"Chose  it  myself.    Looked  a  good  fish." 

"It  is  wonderful  to  me,  Josiah" — affected  mouncing 
minx! — "how  you  manage  to  get  through  your  day. 
You  seem  to  have  time  for  everything.  Why,  your 
work  as  mayor  alone  would  keep  most  people  fully 
occupied.  Yet  you  always  seem  able  to  attend  per- 
sonally to  this  and  that  and  the  other." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Gert."  Some  of  the  great  man's 
critics  were  inclined  to  think  that  since  he  had  made 
so  good  in  his  high  office  his  amazing  self-confidence 
had  abated  a  feather  or  two.  "I've  always  tried  to 
be  what  I  call  a  prattical  man.  If  you  want  a  thing 
done  right  do  it  yourself — that's  my  motto." 

"But  you  get  through  so  much,  Josiah." 

"Just  a  habit.  But  there's  a  very  busy  year  ahead. 
Being  Mayor  o'  this  city  is  not  child's  play  in  times 
like  these.  We're  up  against  the  food  shortage  now. 
Last  year  it  was  munitions.  Next  year  it'll  be  coal. 
And  the  Army's  always  crying  out  for  men.  And 
any  labor  that  isn't  in  khaki  is  that  durned  independ- 
ent and  very  inefficient  into  the  bargain.  The  papers 
are  always  writing  up  what  they  call  democracy.  Well, 
you  can  have  all  my  share  of  democracy.  Between 
you  and  me,  Gert,  it's  mainly  a  name  for  a  lot  of 
jumped-up  ignoramuses  who  have  no  idea  of  how  lit- 

233 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

tie  they  do  know.  Yesterday  I  was  over  at  Cleveley 
arranging  with  the  Duke  about  a  certain  matter.  Now 
he's  prattical  fellow,  is  that.  He  said,  'Mr.  Munt,  to 
be  candid,  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  subject, 
but  I'm  very  willing  to  learn.'  I  tell  you,  Gert,  you'd 
have  to  wait  till  the  cows  come  home  to  hear  one  of 
our  jumped-up  Jacks-in-Office  talking  that  way. 
There's  nothing  they  don't  know  and  they're  not  afraid 
to  say  so.  Why,  it  even  takes  me  all  my  time  to  tell 
them  anything." 


XXXV 

AT  this  critical  moment  Ethel  came  in.  Mrs.  Doc- 
tor Cockburn  was  raging  secretly.  She  had 
turned  up  at  the  Arboretum,  dutifully  prepared  to 
help  her  mother  through  a  situation  a  little  trying 
perhaps  to  the  nerve  of  inexperience  and  behold !  there 
was  Gertrude,  smiling  and  pat,  going  through  it  all 
without  turning  a  hair  and  palpably  not  in  need  of 
the  least  assistance  from  any  one.  The  mortified 
Ethel,  having  missed  a  Sunday  at  Strathfieldsaye,  had 
not  been  in  a  position  to  realize  that  her  mother  was 
going  to  be  so  weak  as  to  allow  Gerty,  who  as  usual 
had  masked  her  intentions  very  cleverly,  to  take  her 
place.  It  was  such  a  pity!  Miss  Heber-Knollys  who 
was  there,  had  said  it  was  such  a  pity! 

Ethel,  an  old  and  successful  pupil  of  that  distin- 
guished lady,  had  been  carried  off  to  tea  by  her  at 
the  end  of  the  proceedings.  And  Miss  Heber-Knollys 
had  expressed  herself  as  a  little  disappointed.  She 
was  sure  the  Girl  Scouts  had  been  so  looking  forward 
to  having  the  Mayoress  with  them  that  afternoon; 
at  any  rate,  Miss  Heber-Knollys  had,  although  of 
course  she  had  no  pretensions  to  speak  for  the  Girl 
Scouts ;  but  speaking  as  a  public,  a  semi-public  woman 
of  Blackhampton,  although  born  in  Kent  and  edu- 

235 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

cated  at  Girham,  speaking,  therefore,  as  a  quasi-public 
and  naturalized  woman  of  Blackhampton  with  an 
M.A.  degree,  she  looked  to  the  Mayoress  to  take  a 
strong  lead  in  all  matters  relating  to  the  many-sided 
activities  of  the  City's  feminine  life. 

Ethel  quite  saw  that.  And  she  now  proceeded  fully 
and  pointedly  to  report  Miss  Heber-Knollys  for  the 
future  guidance  of  her  father,  the  admonition  of  her 
mother  and  for  the  confusion  and  general  undoing  of 
the  designing  Gertrude.  Mrs.  Doctor  Cockburn  was 
far  from  realizing  the  critical  nature  of  the  moment 
at  which  she  had  chanced  to  arrive,  but  the  general 
effect  of  her  presence  was  just  as  stimulating  as  if 
she  had.  The  lawful  Mayoress  was  in  sore  need  of 
mental  and  moral  support  if  she  was  to  prevail  against 
the  Schemer. 

Ethel  was  in  the  nick  of  time,  but  yet  it  was  by  no 
means  certain  that  she  was  not  too  late  to  keep  Gerty 
from  the  Floral  Hall.  The  Floral  Hall  would  depend 
on  Doctor  Tremlett,  bluntly  remarked  Josiah. 

"Doctor  Tremlett!"  said  Mrs.  Doctor  Cockburn 
sternly. 

"Your  man  has  got  the  sack."  The  Mayor  indulged 
in  an  obvious  wink  at  Gerty  who  was  looking  as  if 
butter  would  not  melt  in  her  mouth. 

"But,"  said  the  horrified  Ethel,  "there's  no  com- 
parison between  Horace  and  Doctor  Tremlett.  Hor- 
ace belongs  to  the  modern  school;  Doctor  Tremlett's 
an  old  fossil." 

236 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"Your  Ma  seems  to  think  Doctor  Tremlett  under- 
stands her,"  said  Josiah  bluntly.  "And  Doctor  Trem- 
lett says  she's  got  to  be  very  careful  of  her  heart  or 
she'll  have  to  lie  up  and  have  a  trained  nurse." 

"But  Horace  declares  there  is  nothing  the  matter 
with  it." 

"That's  where  Horace  don't  know  his  business  as 
well  as  Doctor  Tremlett.  Your  Ma  has  got  to  be  very 
careful,  indeed,  and  I'm  going  to  arrange  with  Aylett 
for  her  to  have  a  deputy  for  the  whole  of  the  coming 
year.  You  see  if  anything  happened  to  her  she'd  have 
to  have  a  deputy,  so  it  may  be  wise  to  take  steps  be- 
forehand." 

"Nonsense,  Father!  Horace  says  there's  nothing 
the  matter  with  her.  He  says  it's  stage  fright.  You 
ought  not  to  encourage  her.  Certainly  it  isn't  right 
that  Gerty  should  be  taking  her  place.  Miss  Heber- 
Knollys  says  it  may  make  a  bad  impression." 

"Don't  know,  I'm  sure,  what  business  it  is  of  hers." 
His  worship  spoke  with  considerable  asperity. 

"Besides,  if  any  one  must  deputize,  surely  it  should 
be  me." 

There  was  a  little  pause  and  then  said  Gerty  in  her 
meek  and  dovelike  voice,  "We  all  thought,  dear,  that 
just  now  you  would  not  care  to  take  part  in  a  public 
display.  Perhaps  after  Christmas  .  .  ,  when  the  new 
little  one  has  safely  arrived." 

The  other  ladies  realized  that  the  Fox  of  a  Ger- 
trude had  scored  a  bull's-eye.  At  Christmas  it  was  f  ond- 

237 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

ly  hoped  in  the  family  that  the  Mayor  would  at  last 
have  a  grandson.  Certainly,  Mrs.  Doctor  could  not  be 
expected  to  take  an  active  part  at  the  Floral  Hall. 

There  were  occasions,  however,  when  Mrs.  Doctor 
was  visited  by  some  of  her  father's  driving  force  and 
power  of  will.  And  this  was  one  of  them.  If  a  ca- 
lamity of  the  first  magnitude  was  to  be  averted — 
Gerty  as  Deputy-Mayoress  was  unthinkable! — there 
must  be  no  half  measure.  "Horace  says  it  will  do 
Mother  good  to  distribute  the  prizes  at  the  Floral  Hall, 
and  if  she  doesn't  I  am  sure  that  quite  a  lot  of  people 
will  be  disappointed." 

Even  for  Ethel  this  was  rather  cynical.  She  was 
well  aware  that  she  had  greatly  overrated  the  public's 
power  of  disappointment;  at  the  same  time  it  was 
clearly  a  case  for  strong  action.  "You'll  go  to  the 
Floral  Hall,  Mother.  And  I'll  come  with  you." 

"You,  dear?"  Gerty  spoke  in  a  melodramatic 
whisper. 

"I  shall  sit  just  behind  her  ...  in  the  second  row. 
We  can't  have  people  talking.  And  I  shall  put  on  my 
fur  coat." 

It  was  a  blow  on  the  sconce  for  the  specious  Ger- 
trude, but  she  took  it  with  disarming  meekness,  smil- 
ing, as  Ethel  mentally  described  her,  "like  a  prize  An- 
gora" down  her  long,  straight,  rather  adventurous 
nose. 

"It's  your  duty,  Mother."  Mrs.  Doctor  proceeded 
to  administer  a  mental  and  moral  shaking.  "The 

238 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

women  of  the  city  look  up  to  you,  they  expect  you  to 
set  an  example.  Miss  Heber-Knollys  feels  that  very 
strongly.  And  Horace,  who  is  a  far  cleverer  man  than 
Doctor  Tremlett,  says  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  keep 
yourself  up." 

"In  other  words,  Maria,"  cooed  Gerty  in  the  voice 
of  the  dove,  "you  must  show  Spirit.  And  that  is  what 
I  always  tell  you." 

There  were  times  when  Gerty  was  amazing.  Her 
audacity  took  away  the  breath  even  of  Ethel.  As  for 
Maria  she  felt  a  little  giddy.  She  was  fascinated. 

The  She  serpent 


XXXVI 

MARIA  went  to  the  Floral  Hall.  And  she  was 
seen  there  to  great  advantage.  She  wore  a 
new  hat  chosen  for  her  by  Ethel  at  the  most  fash- 
ionable shop  in  the  city;  she  distributed  the  prizes  to 
the  Orphans'  Guild  in  a  manner  which  extorted  praise 
from  even  the  diminished  Gertrude;  she  didn't  actu- 
ally "say  a  few  words,"  but  her  good  heart — speaking 
figuratively  of  course — and  her  motherly  presence 
spoke  for  her ;  and  as  Miss  Heber-Knollys  said,  in  fe- 
licitously proposing  a  vote  of  thanks  to  the  Mayoress 
on  whose  behalf  the  Mayor  responded,  she  had  brought 
a  ray  of  sunshine  into  the  lives  of  those  who  saw 
the  sun  too  seldom. 

This  achievement  was  a  facer  for  the  designing 
Gertrude,  also  for  the  antiquated  Doctor  Tremlett. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  was  a  triumph  for  Ethel  and 
for  the  modern  school  of  medicine.  Horace,  Doctor 
Cockburn,  was  reinstated.  Maria  would  still  have 
felt  safer  with  some  one  who  really  understood  the 
heart  and  its  ways,  but,  as  Ethel  pointed  out  to  her, 
she  would  earn  the  admiration  of  everybody  if  she 
could  manage  to  postpone  her  really  serious  illness 
until  the  following  year. 

240 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Maria,  at  any  rate,  was  open  to  reason.  For  the 
sake  of  the  general  life  of  the  community  she  would 
do  her  best.  But  it  was  very  hard  upon  her;  far 
harder  than  people  realized.  As  she  had  once  pathet- 
ically told  Josiah,  "she  hadn't  been  brought  up  to  that 
kind  of  thing,"  to  which  the  Mayor  promptly  rejoined, 
"that  he  hadn't  either,  but  he  was  as  good  as  some 
who  had." 

Education  was  what  the  Mayor  called  a  Flam.  In 
the  main  it  wasn't  prattical.  He  allowed  that  it  was 
useful  in  certain  ways  and  in  carefully  regulated 
doses,  but  of  late  years  it  had  been  ridiculously  over- 
done and  was  in  a  fair  way  to  ruin  the  country.  Edu- 
cation didn't  agree  with  everybody.  He  knew  a  case 
in  point. 

A  classical  instance  of  schooling  misapplied  would 
always  remain  in  his  mind.  There  were  times  when 
he  brooded  over  this  particular  matter  in  secret,  for 
he  never  spoke  of  it  openly.  His  youngest  girl,  upon 
whose  upbringing  a  fabulous  sum  had  been  lavished, 
had  cast  such  a  blot  on  the  family  escutcheon  that 
it  was  almost  impossible  to  forgive  her.  It  was  all 
very  well  for  Ethel  to  talk  of  Sally's  doings  in  Serbia. 
That  seemed  the  best  place  for  people  like  her.  Yet, 
as  a  matter  of  strict  equity,  and  Josiah  was  a  just  man, 
although  a  harsh  one,  he  supposed  that  presently  he 
would  have  to  do  something  in  the  matter. 

Under  the  surface  he  was  a  good  deal  troubled  by 
Sally.  She  was  out  of  his  will  and  he  had  fully  made 

241 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

up  his  mind  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  her; 
she  had  had  carte  blanche  in  the  matter  of  learning, 
and  the  only  use  she  had  made  of  it  was  to  disgrace 
him  in  the  eyes  of  the  world. 

All  that,  however,  was  before  the  war.  And  there 
was  no  doubt  that  the  war  had  altered  things.  Be- 
fore the  war  he  lived  for  money  and  worldly  reputa- 
tion; but  now  that  he  was  in  the  thick  of  the  fight 
some  of  his  ideas  had  changed.  Money,  for  instance, 
seemed  to  matter  far  less  than  formerly;  and  he  had 
come  to  see  that  the  only  kind  of  worldly  reputa- 
tion worth  having  didn't  depend  upon  externals.  His 
success  as  a  public  man  had  taught  him  that.  It 
wasn't  his  fine  house  on  The  Rise,  or  the  fact  that 
he  had  become  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  city,  that 
had  caused  him  to  be  unanimously  invited  to  carry  on 
for  another  year.  Other  qualities  had  commended 
him.  He  didn't  pretend  to  be  what  he  was  not,  and 
the  people  of  the  soundest  judgment  seemed  to  like 
him  all  the  better  on  that  account. 

He  was  beginning  to  see  now  that  the  case  of  Sally 
would  have  to  be  reconsidered.  In  spite  of  the  damn- 
able independence  which  had  always  been  hers  from 
the  time  she  was  as  high  as  the  dining-room  table, 
there  was  no  doubt  that  she  was  now  fighting  hard 
for  a  cause  worth  fighting  for.  He  had  not  reached 
the  point  of  telling  Mossop  to  put  her  back  in  his 
will,  but  the  conviction  was  growing  upon  him  that 
he  would  have  to  do  so. 

242 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

At  the  same  time  it  was  going  to  hurt.  He  could 
have  wished  now  that  he  hadn't  been  quite  so  hasty 
in  the  matter.  It  was  not  his  way  to  indulge  in  vain 
regrets  or  to  pay  much  attention  to  unsolicited  ad- 
vice, but  it  seemed  a  pity  that  he  had  not  listened  to 
Mossop  in  the  first  instance.  This  business  of  Sally, 
in  a  manner  of  speaking,  would  be  in  the  nature  of 
a  public  climb  down.  And  there  had  been  one  already. 

As  far  as  Melia  and  her  husband  were  concerned 
his  conscience  pricked  him  more  than  a  little.  At  first 
it  had  gone  sorely  against  the  grain  to  revoke  the  ban 
upon  his  contemptuously  defiant  eldest  daughter  and 
his  former  barman.  But  once  having  done  so,  it  had 
come  suddenly  upon  him  that  he  had  gone  wrong  in 
that  affair  from  the  outset.  The  provocation  had  been 
great,  but  he  had  let  his  feelings  master  him.  Melia 
and  Hollis  were  not  exonerated.  She  ought  to  have 
shown  more  respect  for  his  wishes,  and  a  man  in  the 
position  of  Hollis  ought  to  prove  himself  before  he 
ventures  to  ask  for  his  employer's  daughter;  but,  if  he 
had  to  deal  with  the  episode  again,  he  felt,  in  the 
light  of  later  experience,  that  he  would  have  acted 
differently. 

However,  by  the  end  of  November,  Josiah  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  restore  Melia  and  Sally  to  his  will. 
It  was  only  a  question  of  when  he  should  do  so.  But 
this  was  a  matter  in  which  his  usual  power  of  voli- 
tion seemed  to  desert  him.  In  other  affairs  of  life 
to  decide  on  a  thing  was  at  once  to  do  it;  but  now 

243 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

he  hesitated,  putting  off  from  day  to  day.  It  was  a 
dose  of  particularly  disagreeable  medicine  that  there 
seemed  no  immediate  need  to  swallow. 

A  day  soon  came,  however,  when  he  was  rather  bit- 
terly to  rue  his  vacillation.  One  morning  Josiah  ar- 
rived at  the  City  Hall  at  a  quarter  to  ten.  A  meet- 
ing of  the  Ways  and  Means  Committee  was  called 
for  a  quarter  past  and  he  had  to  take  the  chair  in  the 
Mayor's  parlor.  When  he  entered  the  room  he  found 
the  Town  Clerk  standing  in  front  of  a  fire  of  the  Best 
Blackhampton  Bright,  a  twinkle  in  his  eye  and  a  for- 
midable sheaf  of  documents  in  his  hand. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Mayor."  Perhaps  a  faintly 
quizzical  greeting,  respectful  though  it  was.  But  this 
shrewd  dog  Aylett,  with  a  pair  of  humorous  eyes 
looking  through  gold-rimmed  glasses  which  hung  by  a 
cord  from  his  neck,  had  a  slightly  quizzical  manner 
with  everybody.  He  knew  his  value  to  the  city  of 
Blackhampton;  he  was  the  ablest  Town  Clerk  it  had 
ever  had. 

"Mornin',  Aylett,"  said  his  worship  in  that  official 
voice  which  seemed  to  get  deeper  and  deeper  at  every 
meeting  over  which  he  presided. 

"I  suppose  you've  read  your  Tribune  this  morn- 
ing ?"  Aylett  had  an  easy  chatty  way  with  everybody 
from  the  Mayor  down.  He  was  so  well  used  to  high 
affairs  that  he  could  be  slightly  jocular  without  im- 
pairing the  dignity  of  a  grandee  and  without  loss  of 
his  own. 

244 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"As  a  matter  of  fact  I  haven't,"  said  the  Mayor. 
"The  girl  forgot  to  deliver  it  this  morning  at  Strath- 
fieldsaye.  Don't  know,  Aylett,  what  things  are  com- 
ing to  in  this  city,  I  don't  really.  We'll  have  to  have 
an  alteration  if  we  are  not  going  to  lose  the  war  al- 
together." 

The  Town  Clerk  smiled  at  this,  and  then  he  took 
the  municipal  copy  of  the  Tribune  from  among  other 
works  of  reference  on  a  side  table,  folded  back  the 
page  and  handed  the  paper  to  the  Mayor.  "That 
youngest  girl  of  yours  has  been  going  it." 

It  was  an  unfortunate  piece  of  phrasing  on  the  part 
of  one  so  accomplished  as  Aylett.  Josiah  started  a 
little  and  then  with  an  air  of  rather  grim  anxiety  pro- 
ceeded to  read  the  Tribune. 

There  was  three  quarters  of  a  column  devoted  to 
the  doings  of  Miss  Sarah  Ann  Munt;  a  sight  which, 
with  certain  sinister  recollections  in  his  mind,  went 
some  way  to  assure  Josiah  that  his  worst  fears  were 
realized.  But  he  had  but  to  read  a  line  or  so  to  be  con- 
vinced that  there  was  no  ground  for  pessimism.  Miss 
Sarah  Ann  Munt,  it  seemed,  had  rendered  such  sig- 
nal service  to  the  Allied  Cause  that  she  had  brought 
great  honor  upon  herself,  upon  a  name  highly  and 
justly  esteemed  in  the  city  of  Blackhampton,  and  even 
upon  the  country  of  her  origin. 

The  Tribune  told  the  thrilling  story  of  her  deeds 
with  pardonable  gusto.  On  the  outbreak  of  war  she 
had  volunteered  for  service  with  the  Serbian  Army. 

245 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Owing  to  her  great  skill  as  a  motor  driver,  for  which 
in  pre-war  days  she  had  been  noted,  she  had  been 
attached  in  that  capacity  to  the  Headquarters  Staff. 
She  had  endured  the  perils  and  the  hardships  of  the 
long  retreat;  and  her  coolness,  her  daring  and  her 
mother  wit  had  enabled  her  to  bring  her  car,  contain- 
ing the  Serbian  Commander  and  his  Chief  of  Staff, 
in  safety  through  the  enemy  lines  at  a  moment  when 
they  had  actually  been  cut  off.  "It  is  not  too  much  to 
say,"  declared  the  Tribune  whose  language  was  offi- 
cial, "that  the  story  of  Miss  Munt's  deeds  in  Serbia 
is  one  of  the  epics  of  the  war.  By  her  own  personal 
initiative  she  did  much  to  avert  a  disaster  of  the  first 
magnitude.  No  single  individual  since  the  war  be- 
gan has  rendered  a  more  outstanding  service  to  the 
Allied  Cause.  She  has  already  been  the  recipient  of 
more  than  one  high  decoration,  and  on  page  five  will 
be  found  an  official  photograph  of  her  receiving  yet 
another  last  week  in  Paris  from  the  hands  of  the 
Chief  of  the  Republic." 

Josiah  felt  a  little  dizzy  as  with  carefully  assumed 
coolness  he  turned  to  page  five.  There,  sure  enough, 
was  Sally,  looking  rather  fine  drawn  in  her  close- 
fitting  khaki,  but  with  that  half -wicked  down-looking 
smile  upon  her  that  he  knew  so  well.  With  her 
leggings,  and  her  square  chin  and  her  "bobbed"  hair 
which  hung  upon  her  cheeks  in  side  pieces  and  gave 
her  a  resemblance  to  Joan  of  Arc  she  was  like  an 
exceedingly  handsome,  but  as  they  say  in  Blackhamp- 

246 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

ton,  a  rather  "gallus"  boy.  The  hussy!  He  couldn't 
help  laughing  at  the  picture  of  her,  it  was  so  ex- 
actly how  he  best  remembered  her.  The  amused 
slightly  defiant  You-Be-Damned  air  was  so  extraor- 
dinarily like  her. 

"Blame  my  cats!"  said  the  Mayor. 

For  several  minutes  it  was  his  only  remark. 


XXXVII 

THE  meeting  of  the  Ways  and  Means  Committee 
which  had  been  called  for  a  quarter  past  ten 
was  of  more  than  local  importance.  It  was  of  na- 
tional importance  as  the  Mayor  was  careful  to  in- 
form its  members,  among  whom  were  the  picked  brains 
of  the  community,  when  he  informally  opened  the 
business.  But  it  was  not  until  twenty  minutes  to 
eleven  that  he  was  able  to  do  so.  It  was  not  that  the 
Committee  itself  was  unpunctual;  it  was  simply  that 
one  and  all  had  seen  that  morning's  Tribune  and  that 
the  common  task  had  perforce  to  yield  for  the  nonce 
to  their  hearty  congratulations. 

For  one  thing,  the  Mayor  had  become  decidedly 
popular ;  for  another,  one  more  glorious  page  had  been 
written  in  history  by  the  Blackhampton  born.  It  was 
really  surprising  the  number  of  absolutely  eminent 
people  who  at  one  time  or  another  had  contrived  to 
be  born  at  Blackhampton.  In  no  city  in  England  did 
local  patriotism  run  higher,  in  no  city  in  England  was 
there  better  warrant  for  it.  The  Ways  and  Means 
Committee  was  quite  excited.  It  was  almost  child- 
ishly delighted  at  having,  as  their  Chairman,  the 
rather  embarrassed  parent  of  one  who,  as  Sir  Reuben 
Jope,  senior  alderman  and  thrice  ex-mayor,  said  in 

248 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

a  well  turned  phrase,  "bade  fair  to  become  the  most 
famous  woman  in  the  Empire." 

Perhaps  a  certain  piquancy  was  lent  to  an  event 
that  was  already  historical,  by  the  knowledge  in  pos- 
session of  those  in  the  inner  circle  of  municipal  life 
that  the  Mayor  had  been  hard  hit  by  a  former  episode 
in  the  dashing  career  of  Miss  Sally.  That  episode 
belonged  to  the  pre-war  period  when  the  stock  of  Mr. 
Josiah  Munt  did  not  stand  nearly  so  high  in  the  mar- 
ket as  it  did  that  morning.  More  than  one  of  these 
seated  round  the  council  board  with  their  eyes  on  the 
Chairman  had  relished  the  public  chastening  of  the 
lord  of  Strathfieldsaye.  He  had  been  smitten  in  a 
tender  place  and  they  were  not  so  sorry  for  him  as 
they  might  have  been.  But  other  times  other  modes 
of  thought.  Since  July,  1914,  water  had  flowed  under 
Sharrow  Bridge.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  elo- 
quent of  the  fact  than  the  rather  excited  cordiality 
of  the  present  gathering. 

"I  really  think,  gentlemen,"  said  Sir  Reuben  Jope, 
"that  the  City  should  recognize  Miss  Munt's  extremely 
gallant  behavior.  I  presume,  Mr.  Town  Clerk,  it  is 
competent  to  do  so." 

"Oh,  quite,  sir — oh,  quite."  In  the  expressive  words 
in  which  the  Mayor  reconstructed  the  scene  that  eve- 
ning for  the  benefit  of  the  Mayoress,  "that  Aylett 
was  grinning  all  over  his  lantern-jawed  mug  like  a 
Barbary  ape." 

"Then  I  shall  propose  at  the  next  meeting  of  the 
249 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Council  that  a  public  presentation  be  made  to  Miss 
Munt." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  second  that,  Sir  Reuben,"  said 
Mr.  Alderman  Limpenny,  "when  the  time  comes  to 
do  so." 

But  the  Mayor  interposed  with  asperity:  "No, 
no,  no,  gentlemen.  We  can't  have  anything  of  the 
kind.  Very  good  of  you,  I'm  sure,  but  we  must  get 
on  with  the  business."  His  worship  rapped  smartly 
upon  the  municipal  mahogany.  "This  is  war  time, 
remember.  We've  got  to  discuss  that  contract  of  Per- 
kins and  Baylis.  Seems  to  me,  as  I  said  at  the  last 
meeting,  that  those  jockeys  are  over-charging  the  city 
forty  per  cent.  You  know,  gentlemen,  we've  got  to 
stop  this  leakage  of  public  money.  Whatever  they 
may  do  in  Whitehall,  we  are  not  going  to  stand  for 
it  here.  Signing  blank  checks  and  dropping  them  in 
Corporation  Square  is  not  our  form.  As  long  as  I 
sit  in  this  chair  there  is  going  to  be  strict  control  of 
the  public  purse.  And  there  is  not  going  to  be  graft 
in  this  city  neither.  This  is  not  Westminster.  We 
don't  propose  to  allow  a  public  department  to  make  a 
little  mistake  in  its  accounts  of  a  few  odd  millions  ster- 
ling and  then  jog  quietly  on  as  if  nothing  had  oc- 
curred." 

"Hear!  hear!"  from  the  City  Treasurer. 

"This  war  is  costing  the  British  people  more  than 
seven  millions  a  day  at  the  present  time  and  to  my 
mind  it's  wonderful  that  they  are  able  to  do  it  at  the 

250 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

price.  However,  gentlemen,  that  is  by  the  way.  Let 
us  return  to  the  contract  of  Perkins  and  Baylis." 

Truth  to  tell  the  contract  of  Perkins  and  Baylis  had 
less  attraction  for  the  Committee  at  that  particular 
moment  than  the  picture  in  the  Tribune.  Somehow, 
the  picture  had  captured  its  imagination.  Whether  it 
was  the  leggings,  the  "bobbed"  hair,  the  Joan  of  Arc 
profile,  or  the  "gallus"  smile  of  the  undefeated  Miss 
Sally,  it  was  quite  certain  that  the  last  had  not  been 
heard  of  her  historic  actions. 

The  Committee  of  Ways  and  Means  was  not  alone 
in  its  response  to  the  picture  in  the  Tribune  and  the 
great  deeds  it  commemorated.  It  was  the  talk  of 
the  whole  city.  Josiah  moved  that  day  and  for  many 
days  in  a  kind  of  reflected  glory.  Wherever  he  went 
congratulations  were  showered  upon  him.  Three 
cheers  were  given  him  at  the  Club  when  he  came  in 
to  lunch.  There  was  a  decided  tendency  to  iden- 
tify him  personally  with  Sally's  fame,  which,  if  ex- 
ceedingly gratifying,  was  in  the  peculiar  circumstances 
not  a  little  disconcerting. 

For  one  thing,  he  was  rather  at  a  loss  to  know  what 
line  he  should  take  in  the  matter.  On  the  unhappy 
occasion  of  Sally's  going  to  prison  he  had  written  her 
what  he  called  "a  very  stiff  letter."  In  pretty  blunt 
language  he  had  told  her  that  as  she  had  disgraced 
him  in  the  sight  of  the  world  he  should  have  no  more 
to  do  with  her  and  that  he  intended  to  disinherit  her. 

To  this  letter  no  reply  had  been  received.  It  was 
251 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

the  kind  of  letter  which  did  not  call  for  one.  Since 
that  time  nothing  had  passed  between  Sally  and  him- 
self on  that  subject  or  on  any  other.  But  for  some 
months  now  Josiah  had  rather  keenly  regretted  that 
his  attitude  had  been  so  definite.  The  war  seemed  to 
soften  the  past  and  to  sharpen  the  present.  In  some 
respects  he  was  a  changed  man;  one  less  overbearing 
in  temper,  one  less  harsh  in  judgment 

The  times  had  altered.  Life  itself  had  altered.  He 
was  not  a  man  to  cry  over  spilt  milk,  or  to  deplore 
the  bygone,  but  at  this  moment  he  had  one  sharp  re- 
gret. Some  weeks  before  Sally  had  burst  into  fame 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  restore  her  to  his  will 
and  meant  to  write  and  tell  her  so.  But  for  a  man 
of  his  sort  the  task  was  hard  and  he  had  weakly  put 
it  off  from  day  to  day.  And  now,  alas,  it  was  too 
late  to  do  it  with  the  grace  of  the  original  intention. 
It  would  seem  like  compulsion  now.  Josiah  was 
keenly  vexed  with  himself.  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  eloquent  of  the  rule  which  hitherto  had  con- 
trolled his  life,  "Do  not  put  off  until  to-morrow,  etc." 
In  times  like  those  a  cardinal  maxim. 


XXXVIII 

THE  Mayor  was  in  a  false  position  in  regard  to 
his  youngest  daughter  and  he  had  only  himself 
to  blame.  But  much  of  his  strength  lay  in  the  fact 
that  he  was  the  kind  of  man  whom  experience  teaches. 
Delays,  it  seemed,  were  highly  dangerous.  He  must 
make  up  his  mind  to  put  his  pride  in  his  pocket. 

It  was  not  an  easy  or  pleasant  operation,  but  it  had 
to  be  performed.  Nevertheless,  the  town  had  been 
ringing  a  full  ten  days  with  the  name  of  Sally  before 
he  could  bring  himself  to  turn  out  after  dinner  of  a 
December  evening  and  walk  along  the  road  as  far  as 
The  Gables. 

He  was  received  in  the  library,  as  usual,  by  Lawyer 
Mossop.  The  city's  leading  solicitor  had  recently  aged 
considerably.  He  looked  thinner  and  grayer,  his 
cheeks  were  hollow,  there  were  more  lines  in  his  face. 
His  only  son,  George,  who  in  the  natural  course  of 
events  would  have  carried  on  a  very  old  established 
business,  had  been  killed  in  France,  and  news  had 
lately  come  that  his  sister  Edith's  boy,  whom  he  had 
helped  to  educate  and  who  had  already  begun  to 
make  his  way  at  the  Bar,  had  been  permanently  dis- 
abled by  the  explosion  of  a  hand  grenade. 

253 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Long  training  in  self-conquest,  backed  by  genera- 
tions of  emotional  restraint,  enabled  Lawyer  Mossop 
still  to  play  the  man  of  the  world.  He  rose  with  a 
charming  smile  and  an  air  of  ready  courtesy  to  re- 
ceive his  distinguished  client  and  neighbor.  At  a  first 
glance  there  was  nothing  to  tell  that  for  the  solicitor, 
life  had  lost  its  savor. 

The  two  men  had  a  long  and  intimate  talk.  Oddly 
unlike  as  they  were  in  temperament,  education,  men- 
tal outlook,  their  minds  had  never  marched  so  well 
together  as  this  evening  in  all  their  years  of  inter- 
course. Somehow  the  rude  vigor,  the  robust  sense  of 
the  client  appeared  to  stimulate  the  more  civilized,  the 
more  finely  developed  lawyer.  Moreover,  he  could  not 
fail  to  perceive  that  it  was  a  humaner,  more  liberal- 
minded  Josiah  Munt  than  he  had  ever  known  who  had 
come  to  talk  with  him  this  evening.  Success,  popu- 
larity, response  to  the  overwhelming  public  need  had 
ripened  a  remarkable  man,  rubbed  off  some  of  the  cor- 
ners, softened  and  harmonized  the  curious  dissonances 
that  had  jarred  in  what,  after  all,  was  a  fine  char- 
acter. Rough  diamond  as  Josiah  Munt  still  was  and 
must  always  remain  in  the  eyes  of  the  critical,  he 
stood  out  this  evening  as  a  right-thinking,  straight- 
seeing  citizen,  a  real  asset  to  the  community. 

"Mossop,"  he  said  a  little  shamefacedly,  after  their 
conversation  had  gone  on  some  time,  "I  don't  like  hav- 
ing to  own  up  to  it,  but  I'm  bound  to  say  that  I  wish 

254 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

I'd  had  the  sense  to  take  that  advice  you  gave  me  in 
the  matter  of  Sally." 

The  lawyer  could  not  help  a  furtive  smile  at  the 
humility  of  the  tone. 

"You've  got  to  put  that  gel  back  in  my  will."  It 
was  a  pretty  stiff  dose  now  that  it  had  to  be  swallowed 
and  a  fierce  frown  did  not  conceal  its  nature.  "And 
I  want  you  to  believe,  Mossop," — there  was  an  odd 
earnestness  in  the  deep  voice — "that  I  had  made  up 
my  mind  to  do  it  long  before  this — this  damnable  Ser- 
bian business  happened." 

The  lawyer  assured  Mr.  Munt  that  he  was  con- 
vinced of  that. 

"Serves  me  right,  though,  for  delaying.  Mossop, 
I'm  annoyed  with  myself.  It  has  the  look  of  a  force- 
put  now,  but  I  as  I  say " 

The  lawyer  nodded  a  nice  appreciation  of  the  cir- 
cumstances. 

"And  while  I'm  about  it,  I've  made  up  my  mind  to 
put  Melia,  my  eldest  girl,  back  as  well." 

The  lawyer  gave  a  little  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"My  three  gels  are  now  going  to  share  alike.  But 
you  must  provide  six  thousand  pounds  for  Gertrude 
Preston." 

The  lawyer  penciled  a  brief  note  on  his  blotting 
pad. 

"As  you  know,  Mossop,  I've  made  a  goodish  bit, 
one  way  and  another,  since  this  war  began.  Those 
girls  ought  to  be  very  well  off.  And  you  know,  of 

255 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

course,  that  we  are  takin'  in  the  next  house  for  my 
hospital  along  The  Rise.  It'll  give  us  another  twenty 
beds — making  forty  in  all." 

The  lawyer  said  in  his  level  voice  that  he  under- 
stood that  to  be  the  Mayor's  intention  when  he  had 
negotiated  the  purchase  with  Mr.  Harvey  Mortimore. 

"We  bought  that  property  very  well,  eh?  Not  go- 
ing to  get  less  in  value/' 

The  lawyer  agreed. 

"I'm  now  considering  the  question  of  making  it 
over  permanently  to  the  Corporation.  Wouldn't  make 
a  bad  nest  egg  for  the  city,  eh?" 

"A  very  generous  gift,  Mr.  Munt." 

"Anyhow,  I'm  arranging  with  the  Duke  to  come 
over  on  the  twenty-sixth  of  January  to  open  the  new 
annex.  And  in  the  meantime  we'll  think  about  giving 
it  to  the  city  as  an  orphanage  or  a  cottage  hospital." 


XXXIX 

THE  next  morning  Josiah  paid  a  visit  to  Love 
Lane.  The  business  of  Sally  had  taught  him 
a  lesson.  Events  moved  so  quickly  in  these  crowded 
days  that  it  might  not  be  wise  to  postpone  a  recon- 
ciliation with  Melia. 

So  busy  had  the  Mayor  been  since  his  return  from 
Bridlington  at  the  end  of  August  that  he  had  not 
found  time  to  visit  his  eldest  daughter,  nor  had  she 
been  to  Strathfieldsaye  since  her  first  somewhat  un- 
comfortable appearance  there.  She  was  still  inclined 
to  be  much  on  her  dignity.  Women  who  lead  lonely 
lives  in  oppressive  surroundings  are  not  easily  able 
to  forget  the  past.  The  olive  branch  had  been  offered 
already ;  but  it  was  by  no  means  certain  that  Melia 
intended  to  accept  her  father's  overtures. 

This  December  morning,  however,  as  the  great 
man,  proceeding  majestically  on  foot  from  the  Duke 
of  Wellington,  turned  up  the  narrow  street  with  its 
worn  cobblestones  and  its  double  row  of  mean  little 
houses,  he  fully  intended  as  far  as  might  be  humanly 
possible  "to  right  things  with  Melia  once  for  all." 

The  Mayor  entered  the  shop  and  found  his  eldest 
daughter  serving  a  woman  in  a  white  apron  and  a 
black  and  white  checked  shawl  over  her  head  with  two 

257 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

pennyworth  of  carrots  and  a  stick  of  celery.  The 
honest  dame  was  so  taken  aback  by  the  arrival  of  the 
Mayor  of  the  city,  who  was  personally  known  to  every 
man,  woman  and  child  throughout  the  district  as  one 
of  a  great  triumvirate,  of  whom  the  King  and  the 
Prime  Minister  were  the  other  two,  that  she  fled  in 
hot  haste  without  paying  for  the  spoils  she  bore  awav 
in  her  apron. 

Melia,  however,  true  to  the  stock  whence  she  sprang, 
had  no  false  delicacy  in  the  matter.  Without  taking 
the  slightest  notice  of  the  august  visitor,  she  was  the 
other  side  the  counter  in  a  jiffy,  out  of  the  shop  and 
calling  after  the  fleeing  customer,  "You  haven't  paid 
your  fivepence,  Mrs.  Odell." 

The  Mayor  stood  at  the  shop  door,  watching  with 
a  kind  of  grim  enjoyment  the  process  of  the  fivepence 
being  extracted.  He  plainly  approved  it.  Melia,  with 
all  her  limitations,  had  the  root  of  the  matter  in  her. 
Upon  her  return,  a  little  flushed  and  rather  breath- 
less, he  refrained  from  paying  her  the  compliment  he 
felt  she  deserved  but  was  content  to  ask  if  trade  was 
brisk. 

Trade  was  brisker,  said  Melia,  than  she  had  ever 
known  it. 

Josiah  was  glad  of  that.  He  then  looked  round  to 
assure  himself  that  they  were  alone  in  the  shop  and 
being  convinced  that  such  was  the  case,  he  stood  a 
moment  awkwardly  silent,  balancing  himself  like  a 
stork  first  on  one  leg  and  then  on  the  other. 

258 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"Gel,"  he  took  her  hand  suddenly,  "you  are  back  in 
my  will.  Sally's  back  too.  You  are  both  going  to 
have  an  equal  share  with  Ethel."  He  felt  the  rough- 
ened, toil-stained  hand  begin  to  quiver  a  little  in  his 
strong  grasp.  "Bygones  have  got  to  be  bygones.  Un- 
derstand me."  He  drew  her  towards  him  and  kissed 
her  stoutly  and  firmly  in  the  middle  of  the  forehead. 

He  retained  his  hold  while  her  hot  tears  dripped 
on  to  his  hand.  She  stood  tense  and  rigid,  unable  to 
speak  or  move.  But  she  knew  as  she  stood  there  that 
it  was  no  use  fighting  him  or  fighting  herself.  His 
masterfulness,  his  simplicity,  his  courage  had  reawak- 
ened her  earliest  and  deepest  instinct,  the  love  and 
admiration  she  had  once  had  for  him.  Of  a  sudden 
she  began  to  sob  pitifully.  With  a  queer  look  on  his 
face  he  took  out  a  large  red  handkerchief  and  put 
his  arms  round  her  and  wiped  her  eyes  slowly  and 
with  a  gentleness  hard  to  credit  in  him,  just  as  he  had 
done  when  as  a  very  little  girl  she  had  fallen  and  hurt 
herself  on  the  tiled  yard  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington. 

Speech  was  not  possible  to  father  or  daughter  for 
several  minutes  as  time  is  reckoned  in  Love  Lane, 
although  to  both  it  seemed  infinitely  longer,  and  then 
said  the  Mayor,  "We'll  expect  you  up  at  Strathfields- 
aye  on  Christmas  Day.  Lunch  one-thirty  sharp." 
Then  he  added  in  a  tone  that  was  almost  peremptory, 
"If  that  man  o'  yours  happens  to  get  home  on  leave 
your  mother  would  like  him  to  come,  too." 

Her  tear-dimmed  eyes  looked  at  him  rather  queerly. 
259 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"Didn't  you  know,  Dad?"  The  voice  had  something 
in  it  of  the  child  he  remembered  but  it  was  so  faint 
that  it  was  barely  audible. 

"Know  what?"  His  own  voice  had  more  asperity 
than  it  was  meant  to  have.  But  she  was  able  to  make 
allowances  for  it,  as  she  always  had  done  in  the  days 
when  she  really  understood  him. 

"Bill's  in  hospital." 

He  drew  in  his  breath  quickly.  The  thought  ran 
through  his  mind  that  it  was  well  he  had  had  the  sense 
to  learn  by  experience.  "Where?  What  hospital?" 
He  was  just  a  trifle  nervous,  just  a  shade  flurried. 
As  near  as  a  toucher  he  had  put  it  off  too  long,  as  in 
the  case  of  Sally. 

"In  France.    At  the  Base." 

"Wound?" 

"Yes." 

"Bad  one?" 

"He  says  it's  only  a  cushy  .  .  .  but  .  .  .  but  some- 
how I  don't  trust  him." 

"How  do  you  mean  you  don't  trust  him?" 

"I  mean  this,  Dad."  She  was  quite  composed  now ; 
the  tears  and  the  shakings  were  under  control;  she 
spoke  slowly  and  calmly.  "No  matter  how  bad  he 
was,  he's  not  one  as  would  ever  let  on." 

"Why  shouldn't  he?" 

"He'd  be  afraid  it  might  upset  you.  He's  got  like 
that  lately."  Suddenly  the  hard  eyes  filled  again.  "He 
grins  and  bears  things  now." 

260 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Josiah  nodded  rather  grimly,  but  made  no  comment. 
He  turned  on  his  heel.  "See  you  this  day  fortnight 
up  at  the  house."  Abruptly,  in  deep  thought,  he  went 
away. 


XL 


BILL'S  wound,  as  it  turned  out,  was  a  painful  one, 
and  it  had  an  element  of  danger.  His  right  leg 
was  shattered,  also  poisoned  badly;  it  would  take  a 
long  time  to  heal  and  there  was  a  fear  that  amputa- 
tion might  be  necessary.  Such  a  case  demanded  spe- 
cial treatment,  and  to  Melia's  joy  at  the  beginning  of 
Christmas  week  she  received  word  from  her  father 
that  her  husband  had  been  transferred  from  France 
to  the  Mayor  of  Blackhampton's  hospital. 

There  is  no  saying  how  this  providential  arrange- 
ment came  about.  It  may  have  been  coincidence;  on 
the  other  hand  it  may  not.  Josiah  in  his  second  year 
of  office  was  certainly  becoming  a  power,  if  not  an 
actual  puller  of  strings.  Influence  may  or  may  not 
have  been  at  work;  anyhow  the  Corporal  bore  the 
long  journey  so  well  that  Melia,  as  a  special  conces- 
sion, was  allowed  to  see  him  for  a  short  time  on 
Christmas  Eve. 

She  found  him  wonderfully  cheerful  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  he  had  endured  much  pain;  more  cheerful 
perhaps  than  she  had  ever  known  him.  A  subtle 
change  had  taken  place  since  she  had  seen  him  last. 
The  look  of  utter  weariness  had  yielded  to  something 
else.  It  was  as  if  he  had  been  spiritualized  by  suf- 
fering; indeed  as  he  smiled  at  her  gently  from  his 

262 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

bed  she  felt  that  he  was  not  the  kind  of  man  she  used 
to  know. 

The  memory  of  those  few  exquisite  days  in  the  sum- 
mer was  still  in  their  minds.  It  was  from  that  point 
they  now  took  up  their  lives.  For  both  the  world 
had  changed.  They  saw  each  other  with  new  eyes. 
This  man  of  hers  had  been  as  good  as  his  word,  he 
had  done  his  best  to  come  back  to  her;  and  there,  full 
of  pain,  he  lay  helpless  as  a  baby,  yet  now  inexpress- 
ibly dear  as  the  only  thing  in  life  that  had  any  mean- 
ing for  her.  As  for  himself,  as  he  smiled  up  at  her, 
the  grace  of  his  dreams  was  again  upon  her.  This 
was  she  about  whom  the  romance  of  his  youth  had 
been  woven.  He  didn't  see  her  as  she  was,  a  com- 
monplace, worn,  gray-haired  woman,  or  if  he  did  he 
remembered  the  sacrifices  she  had  made  for  his  sake; 
he  remembered  that  she  had  once  believed  in  him,  and 
after  long  days  she  had  come  to  believe  in  him  again. 

There  was  rare  conflict  in  the  clean  and  quiet  room. 
The  walls  were  hung  with  holly;  everything  about 
the  place  seemed  to  minister  to  a  wonderful  sense  of 
home.  He  sighed  a  deep  content  as  she  took  a  chair 
by  his  bed  and  held  a  feverish  hand  in  hers. 

"Your  father's  hospital!"  A  deep  sigh  spoke  of 
gratitude.  "When  you  happen  to  see  him  tell  him 
from  me  I'm  glad  to  be  in  it." 

She  promised  to  do  so. 

"It's  a  good  place."  His  eyes  and  his  voice  grew 
softer  than  their  wont  in  speaking  of  his  father-in- 

263 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

law.  "A  bit  of  luck  to  be  here."  He  sighed  luxuri- 
ously. 

Said  Melia,  "You  must  take  your  time  getting  well, 
Bill." 

Eyes  of  suffering  looked  into  hers.  "I  expect  I 
won't  be  right  just  yet.''  They  were  still  together, 
passing  the  time  with  delightful  fragments  of  talk 
and  with  fragments  of  silence  equally  delightful  when 
a  nurse  came  importantly  into  the  room  to  say  that 
the  Mayor  had  arrived  unexpectedly  to  look  round 
the  hospital  and  to  wish  a  happy  Christmas  to  his 
guests. 

Melia  rose  rather  nervously.  "I  think  I'll  be  go- 
ing, Bill." 

"Not  yet,  my  dear."  The  voice  from  the  bed  was 
calm  and  quiet.  "We  must  let  bygones  be  bygones. 
The  times  has  changed." 

She  was  glad  to  hear  him  say  that.  And  she  had 
not  told  him  yet  of  her  father's  recent  act  of  repara- 
tion. Should  she  tell  him  now?  Was  the  moment 
favorable?  Or  had  she  better  wait  until 

The  question,  however,  was  already  decided.  Too 
late  to  tell  him  now.  The  door  at  the  other  end  of 
the  room  was  open  and  the  Commandant  had  entered 
followed  by  his  worship  the  Mayor. 

"Only  one  bed  in  this  room,  sir,"  said  the  Com- 
mandant. "A  special  case.  Corporal  Hollis." 

The  Mayor  looked  calmly  round.  He  didn't  see 
Melia  who  was  hidden  by  a  screen  between  the  bed- 

264 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

stead  and  the  door.  "I  notice,  ma'am,  you've  got  an- 
other door  yonder."  He  pointed  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room.  "Hope  these  new  casements  fit  well." 

The  new  casements  fitted  very  well  indeed. 

"All  the  same," — the  deep  voice  was  very  much 
that  of  the  man  of  affairs — "I  expect  you  get  a  bit 
of  draught  here  when  the  wind  blows  from  the  north- 
east." 

The  draught  was  nothing  to  speak  of,  he  was  as- 
sured. 

"Any  complaints?  Heating  apparatus  all  right? 
Ventilators  working  properly?" 

There  were  no  complaints  to  make  of  any  kind. 

"Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  the  Mayor.  "You  can 
leave  me  here  alone  a  few  minutes  with  Corporal 
Hollis — if  he's  well  enough  to  talk  to  me." 

The  Commandant  retired,  closing  the  door  after 
her,  and  the  Mayor  slowly  approached  the  bed. 

"How  are  you,  Bill?"  It  was  a  tone  of  simple, 
hearty  kindness. 

Before  the  occupant  of  the  bed  could  answer  the 
question,  Josiah,  coming  round  the  corner  of  the 
screen,  was  taken  aback  by  the  sight  of  his  eldest 
daughter.  He  was  not  prepared  for  her,  yet  he  was 
quite  equal  to  the  situation.  "Hulloa,  Melia" — it 
was  a  father's  cordiality.  "How  are  you,  gel  ?  Happy 
Christmas  to  you.  Happy  Christmas  to  you  both." 

For  a  little  while  he  stood  talking  to  them,  easily 
and  without  constraint,  while  the  Corporal  lay  in  his 

265 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

bed  saying  nothing,  but  with  his  worn  face  softened 
by  pain  and  service  and  the  thought  of  others.  From 
time  to  time  he  smiled  grayly  at  the  Mayor's  pungent 
humor.  Even  in  the  old  days  "the  Mester"  had  al- 
ways had  a  liberal  share  of  that  quality  in  which  his 
fellow  townsmen  excelled.  Josiah's  sense  of  humor 
was  very  keen,  particularly  when  it  came  to  assess- 
ing the  shortcomings  of  other  people;  it  had  a  breadth, 
a  gusto,  a  penetration  which  high  office  seemed  to  am- 
plify. His  stories,  comments,  criticisms  of  those  prom- 
inently before  the  world  kept  the  Corporal  quietly 
amused  for  some  time.  Finally,  the  Mayor  looked  at 
his  watch.  "I  must  be  getting  on,"  he  said.  "I've  got 
to  address  the  War  Workers'  Association  at  six 
o'clock.  And  at  seven  I've  promised  to  look  in  at 
the  Hearts  of  Oak  annual  soiree  and  concert." 

Very  simply  and  with  the  manliness  that  was  part 
of  him  he  held  out  his  hand.  Without  hesitation  the 
Corporal  took  it.  They  looked  in  the  eyes  of  one 
another.  "I  hope  you're  quite  comfortable,"  said  Jo- 
siah.  "If  there's  anything  you  need  you  have  only 
to  let  me  know.  So  long,  my  boy,  and  don't  be  in 
a  hurry  to  get  well.  See  you  to-morrow,  Melia.  Wish 
you  could  have  brought  Bill  along  with  you.  Happy 
Christmas." 

With  a  wave  of  the  hand  for  them  both  the  Mayor 
went  away,  exuding  an  atmosphere  of  kindness  and 
goodwill  towards  all  men  except  Germans.  In  the 
Mayor's  opinion  Germans  were  not  men  at  all. 

266 


XLI 

IT  would  have  been  ungracious  of  Melia  not  to 
spend  Christmas  Day  at  Strathfieldsaye.  Indeed, 
she  felt  that  she  could  hardly  do  otherwise.  That 
stubborn  thing,  pride,  might  still  be  lurking  in  the 
corners  of  her  heart,  yet  it  durst  not  show  itself  openly ; 
besides,  whatever  its  secret  machinations,  she  could 
not  overlook  the  fact  that  her  father  was  striving 
to  wipe  out  the  past.  Perhaps  the  past  is  the  only 
thing  easier  to  create  than  to  destroy,  but  certainly 
Josiah  was  now  trying  his  best  to  undo  it.  And  this 
Melia  knew. 

In  view  of  the  important  function  on  Christmas 
Day,  Melia  had  been  taken  in  hand  by  Aunt  Gerty. 
It  would  have  been  natural  to  resent  the  interference 
of  that  lady,  but  it  was  clear  that  her  actions  were 
inspired  "from  above."  At  the  same  time  no  emissary 
could  have  been  more  tactful,  more  discreet.  In  sit- 
uations that  called  for  finesse  she  was  hard  to  beat; 
and  she  was  able  to  have  Melia  "fitted"  for  a  really 
good  coat  and  skirt  by  her  own  accomplished  dress- 
maker, Miss  Pratt,  and  helped  her  also  to  choose  a 
hat  at  Messrs.  Rostron  and  Merton's,  the  best  shop  in 
the  city,  without  arousing  antagonism  in  that  sensitive 

267 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

soul.  Also  she  whispered  in  Melia's  ear  that  there 
was  reason  to  believe  that  her  father  had  a  little  sur- 
prise in  store  for  her  on  Christmas  Day. 

In  regard  to  "the  surprise"  Gerty's  information  was 
correct.  And  as  Melia,  looking  and  feeling  far  more 
fashionable  than  she  had  ever  done  in  her  life,  turned 
up  at  Strathfieldsaye  at  a  quarter  past  one,  "the  sur- 
prise" duly  materialized  even  before  the  Christmas 
luncheon  at  one-thirty.  Her  father  gave  her  a  check 
for  fifty  pounds. 

On  Melia's  last  visit  to  Strathfieldsaye  she  had  felt 
quite  "out  of  it,"  but  not  so  now.  Partly  it  may  have 
been  the  new  clothes.  Formerly,  she  had  felt  self- 
conscious,  awkward,  hopelessly  shabby  in  the  midst 
of  a  grandeur  to  which  she  was  unused,  whereby  she 
was  thrown  back  upon  her  embittered  self,  but  now 
her  changing  circumstances,  the  considered  kindness 
of  her  mother  and  Gerty,  and  especially  her  father's 
new  attitude  towards  her  gave  her  a  sense  of  happi- 
ness almost. 

Perhaps  the  fact  that  Ethel,  Mrs.  Doctor  Cockburn, 
was  unable  to  be  present  may  also  have  ministered  a 
little  to  this  feeling.  Ethel's  absence  was  much  de- 
plored. Somehow  a  void  was  created  which  seemed 
to  rob  the  modest  function  of  any  claim  to  distinction 
it  might  have  had;  yet  in  her  heart  Melia  felt  that 
the  absence  of  Mrs.  Doctor  made  it  easier  for  her 
personally,  and  even  for  her  mother,  whatever  it  may 
have  done  for  people  so  accomplished  in  the  world  as 

268 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

her  father  now  was,  and  for  Aunt  Gerty  who  some- 
how had  learned  to  be  genteel  without  being  stuck 
up.  With  Ethel,  on  the  other  hand,  she  had  never 
felt  quite  at  her  ease.  Nor  did  anybody,  if  it  came 
to  that.  Putting  people  at  their  ease  was  not  among 
Mrs.  Doctor  Cockburn's  many  gifts.  She  was  so 
much  a  lady  that  simple  folk  were  apt  to  be  over- 
whelmed by  her  sense  of  her  happy  condition.  It  was 
difficult  for  ordinary  people  to  be  their  plain  selves 
in  her  presence;  ordinary  they  might  be,  but  in  social 
intercourse  Mrs.  Doctor  seemed  almost  to  resent  their 
plainness  as  being  in  the  nature  of  a  slight  upon  her- 
self. 

However,  Ethel  was  not  there.  And  in  Melia's 
opinion  her  absence  gave  a  finer  flavor  to  the  turkey, 
a  gentler  quality  to  the  plum  pudding  and  a  more 
subtle  aroma  to  the  blazing  fumes  that  crowned  it. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  a  theme  for  much  comment.  An 
Event  of  the  first  magnitude  was  almost  due  to  take 
place  in  the  family;  and  the  head  of  it,  presiding  over 
the  modest  feast  with  a  kind  of  genial  majesty  which 
ever-growing  public  recognition  of  his  unusual  quali- 
ties seemed  to  enhance  and  to  humanize,  made  no  se- 
cret of  the  fact  that  he  very  much  wanted  to  have  a 
little  grandson. 

"Well,  Josiah,"  said  the  gallant  Gerty,  adding  a  lit- 
tle water  to  some  excellent  claret  and  smiling  at  him 
with  two  level  rows  of  white  teeth,  "I  am  sure  we 
all  hope  your  wish  will  be  gratified.  No  man,  I'm 

269 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

sure,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  so,  more  thoroughly 
deserves  a  little  grandson  than  yourself." 

To  some  minds,  perhaps,  it  was  not  quite  in  the 
Gertrude  tradition.  It  was  Christmas  Day  and  in 
crowning  the  Christmas  pudding  Josiah  had  been  a 
thought  on  the  free  side,  no  doubt,  with  some  of  the 
finest  old  brandy  even  the  Duke  of  Wellington  could 
boast ;  but  in  any  case  she  meant  well.  All  the  same, 
the  Mayoress  could  not  repress  a  slight  frown  of  an- 
noyance. The  demonstration  did  not  amount  to  more 
than  that.  It  did  not  really  convict  Gerty  of  bad 
taste,  but  Maria  felt  somehow  that  she  had  to  watch 
her  continually.  Gerty  was  such  a  Schemer.  Besides, 
what  business  was  it  of  Gerty 's  anyway? 

"Thank  you,  Gert"  The  Mayor  raised  his  glass 
to  the  Serpent  with  the  homely  charm  that  was  never 
seen  to  greater  advantage  than  on  Christmas  Day  in 
the  family  circle.  "Good  health  and  good  luck  all 
round.  I  must  have  that  little  grandson,  somehow. 
Melia,  my  gel,  that's  something  for  you  and  your  good 
man  to  bear  in  mind." 

Melia  flushed.  She  looked  so  confused  and  so  un- 
happy that  the  watchful  Gerty,  who  with  all  her  ways 
really  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  thinking  for  others, 
suddenly  perceived  that  it  might  be  kind  to  change 
the  subject. 

"Josiah/'  said  Gerty,  "what  is  this  one  hears  about 
a  public  presentation  to  Sally?" 

"You  may  well  ask  that."  The  Mayor  held  up  a 
270 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

glass  of  '68  port  to  the  light  "Some  of  those  jockeys 
on  the  City  Council  have  been  making  themselves  very 
officious." 

"Glad  to  hear  it,  Josiah."  Gerty  was  just  as  pat 
as  your  hat.  "Think  of  the  honor  she's  brought  to 
the  city.  Surely  right  and  surely  proper  that  what 
Sally  has  done  should  be  publicly  recognized.  Even 
the  Times  says  she's  a  credit  to  the  Empire." 

"All  very  well,"  said  his  worship.  "But  it's  noth- 
ing like  ten  years  since  I  used  to  lay  her  across  my 
knee  and  spank  her.  There  was  one  slipper  I  kept 
for  the  purpose."  With  a  humorous  sigh  he  con- 
verged upon  the  brim  of  his  wine  glass.  "But  I  could 
never  make  nothing  of  that  gel.  There  was  always 
the  devil  in  her.  Public  presentation's  all  very  well, 
but  some  of  those  jockeys  on  the  Council  have  per- 
suaded the  Duke  to  make  it,  and  he's  fair  set  on  my 
takin'  the  chair  as  I'm  Mayor  o'  the  city  and  so  on." 

"The  Duke  is  such  a  sensible  man !"  An  arch  preen 
of  Gerty's  plumage.  "Only  right  and  proper,  Jo- 
siah, that  you  should  take  the  chair.  The  other  day, 
according  to  the  Tribune,  the  French  Government  gave 
her  a  very  high  decoration.  She's  quite  a  heroine  in 
Paris." 

"I'm  not  surprised  at  anything."  In  the  Mayor's 
grim  eye  was  quite  as  much  vexation  as  there  was 
humor.  "Stubborn  as  a  mule.  And  that  independ- 
ent. Must  always  go  her  own  gait.  Nice  thing  my 
having  to  preside  over  three  thousand  people  while 

271 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

she's  being  handed  an  illuminated  address.  Of  course, 
that  Aylett's  at  the  back  of  it.  Mischievous  dog!  I 
said  if  there  must  be  a  public  presentation,  as  I  was 
the  father  o'  the  hussy,  it  was  up  to  somebody  else 
to  preside.  But,  seemingly,  they  don't  take  to  the 
idea." 

"Of  course  not,  Josiah." 

Groaned  the  Mayor,  "I'll  have  to  make  the  best  of 
it,  I  suppose.  Still,  a  scurvy  trick  on  the  part  of 
that  Aylett" 


XLII 

IN  spite  of  the  Mayor's  attitude,  which  was  unsym- 
pathetic to  the  verge  of  discouragement,  the  Town 
Clerk  was  able  to  inform  him  on  New  Year's  morn- 
ing that  Miss  Sarah  Ann  Munt  had  graciously  con- 
sented to  accept  an  illuminated  address  in  commemo- 
ration of  her  deeds  on  January  twenty-fifth  at  the 
Floral  Hall.  The  news  was  not  received  graciously. 
Josiah  had  comforted  himself  with  the  not  unrea- 
sonable hope  that  the  Hussy  would  decline  the  presen- 
tation; it  would  be  so  like  her  to  upset  their  plans. 
But  no,  after  all,  Sally  preferred  to  behave  with  still 
deeper  cussedness.  She  wrote  a  charmingly  polite 
letter  from  the  Depot  of  the  Northern  Command  at 
Screwton,  where  she  was  at  present  attached,  to  in- 
form the  members  of  the  Blackhampton  City  Council 
that  it  would  give  her  great  pleasure  to  attend  the 
function  on  January  twenty-fifth  and  that  she  was 
very  sensible  of  the  honor  about  to  be  conferred  upon 
her.  And  that,  after  all,  was  even  more  like  her  than 
a  refusal  of  the  proposal  would  have  been. 

Josiah  was  more  disconcerted  than  fie  cared  to  own. 
It  was  necessary  to  hide  his  feelings  as  far  as  he  could, 
but  he  was  not  a  finished  dissembler,  and,  in  addition 
to  "that  Aylett,"  there  were  several  members  of  the 

273 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Council  who  seemed  to  enjoy  the  situation.  Several 
of  these  received  a  piece  of  the  Mayor's  mind  in  the 
course  of  the  morning.  "He  didn't  know  what  they 
could  be  thinking  of  to  be  wastin'  the  Town's  money 
in  that  way."  In  other  words,  Josiah  had  decided  to 
carry  things  off  with  a  high  hand. 

That  evening,  after  dinner,  he  sat  down  and  wrote 
a  letter. 

"Dear  Sarah  Ann,  I  understand  that  you  are  to  be  pre- 
sented with  an  Address  on  the  twenty-fifth  at  the  Floral 
Hall.  Your  mother  and  I  hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  come 
and  stay  here  over  the  week  end.  Your  affectionate  Father, 
Josiah  Munt.  P.S.  No  need  to  tell  you  that  this  Affair  is 
none  of  my  doing." 

It  was  not  an  easy  letter  to  write  nor  was  the  Mayor 
altogether  satisfied  when  it  was  written.  But  in  the 
circumstances  it  wouldn't  do  to  say  too  much. 

By  return  of  post  came  a  dry,  rather  curt  note  from 
Sally.  She  thanked  her  father  for  the  invitation, 
but  she  had  already  promised  Ethel  that  when  next 
in  Blackhampton  she  would  stay  at  Park  Crescent. 

Josiah  felt  annoyed.  Once  more  it  was  so  like  her. 
Somehow  the  reply  left  him  less  easy  in  his  mind 
than  ever.  He  would  be  glad  when  the  ordeal  of  the 
twenty-fifth  was  over.  He  didn't  trust  the  minx.  As 
likely  as  not  she  would  play  some  trick  or  other;  she 
was  quite  capable  of  affronting  him  publicly.  How- 
ever, the  eyes  of  the  world  were  upon  him,  he  must 
keep  a  stiff  upper  lip,  he  must  see  that  she  didn't 
down  him. 

274 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

In  the  meantime,  from  another  quarter,  bitter  disap- 
pointment came.  The  high  hopes  of  a  little  grandson 
did  not  materialize.  Instead  of  a  lusty  Horace  Josiah 
Cockburn  bursting  upon  a  flattered  world,  the  inferior 
tribe  of  Gwenneths  and  Gwladyses  had  a  Gwendolen 
added  to  their  number.  It  was  quite  a  blow.  The 
Mayor  and  all  his  family  had  set  their  hearts  on  a  boy. 
For  once  the  successful  Ethel  had  been  less  than 
herself.  She  had  failed  conspicuously.  It  was  im- 
possible to  conceal  the  fact  that  people  were  a  little 
disappointed  with  her. 

Happily,  Gwendolen  had  enough  sense  of  propor- 
tion and  right  feeling  to  arrive  according  to  schedule. 
It  would  have  been  unpardonable  in  her  to  have  pre- 
vented Mrs.  Doctor  from  attending  the  important 
function  on  the  twenty-fifth  at  the  Floral  Hall  and 
the  even  more  important  ceremony  on  the  twenty- 
sixth  when  the  Duke  was  to  open  the  new  annex  to 
the  Mayor  of  Blackhampton's  hospital,  which  at  one 
acute  moment  she  had  threatened  to  do.  Fortunately 
Gwendolen  remembered  herself  in  time.  She  con- 
trived to  make  her  appearance  on  January  second  in 
this  vale  of  tears,  and,  although  from  the  outset  not 
a  popular  member  of  society,  after  all  she  was  less 
unpopular  than  she  might  have  been  had  she  deferred 
her  arrival  until  a  week 


XLIII 

THE  scene  at  the  Floral  Hall  was  worthy  of  the 
occasion.  All  that  was  best  in  the  public  life 
of  Blackhampton  and  of  the  county  of  Middleshire 
was  gathered  in  force  in  the  ornate  building  in  New 
Square. 

There  was  more  than  one  reason  for  the  represen- 
tative character  of  the  audience.  In  the  first  place  it 
was  felt  to  be  a  royal  opportunity  to  exalt  the  horn 
of  patriotism.  This  public  recognition  of  the  heroic 
Miss  Munt  was  a  compliment  paid  to  the  women  of 
Britain,  to  those  many  thousands  of  magnificent  wom- 
en whose  deeds  had  proved  them  worthy  of  their 
brothers,  their  husbands  and  their  sons.  Again,  the 
figure  of  Sally  herself  had  fired  the  public  imagination. 
A  Joan  of  Arc  profile  overlaid  by  a  general  air  of 
you-be-damnedness  made  an  ideal  picture  postcard 
as  her  father  had  already  found  to  his  cost.  All  sorts 
of  people  seemed  to  take  a  fantastic  pleasure  in  ad- 
dressing them  to  Josiah  Munt,  Esquire,  J.P.,  Strath- 
fieldsaye,  The  Rise,  Blackhampton.  "How  proud  you 
must  be  of  her,"  et  cetera.  Ad  nauseam. 

Moreover,  this  function  was  intended  as  a  tribute 
to  the  Mayor  himself.  His  worth  was  now  recog- 
nized by  all  classes.  He  was  the  right  man  in  the 

276 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

right  place;  his  boundless  energy  and  his  practical 
sense  were  of  the  utmost  value  to  the  community; 
and  the  wise  men  of  that  thickly  populated  district 
seized  the  chance  of  paying  homage  to  Josiah  and  at 
the  same  time  of  exploiting  a  powerful  personality  in 
the  interests  of  the  state. 

At  three  o'clock,  when  the  Mayor  came  on  to  the 
platform,  the  large  hall  was  very  full.  He  was  fol- 
lowed by  the  Duke  of  Dumbarton,  a  genial,  young- 
middle-aged  nobleman,  who  was  to  make  the  presen- 
tation, and  by  other  magnates.  Behind  the  Chairman 
many  notables  were  seated  already;  and  to  lend  point 
to  the  somewhat  intimate  nature  of  the  proceedings, 
which  may  or  may  not  have  been  part  of  the  design 
of  these  "in  the  know,"  the  members  of  Josiah's  fam- 
ily with  the  national  heroine  in  their  midst  had  been 
grouped  prominently  upon  his  right  hand. 

The  Town  Clerk,  a  little  wickedly  perhaps,  had 
intimated  beforehand  to  the  Mayor  that  the  proceed- 
ings would  really  be  in  the  nature  of  "a  family  party." 
At  all  events,  his  worship  took  the  hint  "of  that  Ay- 
lett"  literally.  Before  sitting  down  at  the  table  and 
taking  formal  charge  of  the  meeting  his  eyes  chanced 
to  light  on  a  group  of  men  in  hospital  blue  for  whom 
places  had  been  reserved  in  the  front  row  of  the  bal- 
cony. Among  these  he  recognized  Corporal  Hollis, 
whose  leg  as  a  result  of  five  weeks'  special  treatment 
had  improved  quite  remarkably. 

The  Mayor  went  to  the  end  of  the  platform  and 
277 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

called  loudly,  "Bill,  you  are  wanted  down  here.   Come 
on  to  the  platform,  my  boy." 

The  Corporal  did  not  covet  notoriety,  but  it  would* 
have  been  as  wise  to  thwart  the  waters  of  Niagara  as 
to  resist  the  will  of  the  City's  chief  magistrate  at  a 
public  meeting.  Until  his  instructions  had  been  car- 
ried out  there  was  not  a  chance  of  a  start  being  made. 
Reluctantly  realizing  this  the  Corporal  in  the  course 
of  three  minutes  had  made  his  way  down  from  the 
gallery  and  on  to  the  platform,  a  crutch  in  each  hand, 
where  his  august  father-in-law  received  him. 

"Come  on,  Bill."  He  was  shepherded  along  the 
front  row  of  chairs  as  if  the  presence  of  three  thou- 
sand people  was  a  very  ordinary  matter.  "You  come 
and  sit  with  the  wife.  Colonel  Hickman,  kindly  move 
up  a  bit  Thank  you.  Like  a  chair  for  your  leg? 
If  you  do,  I'll  get  one." 

The  Corporal  declined  a  chair  for  his  leg,  just  as 
the  meeting  incited  by  certain  officious  members  of 
the  Town  Council  broke  into  cheers.  Melia  and  the 
Corporal,  seated  side  by  side,  were  covered  in  mo- 
mentary confusion.  Then  the  chairman  took  his  seat 
at  the  table,  reduced  the  meeting  to  silence  by  rap- 
ping the  board  sternly  with  his  mallet  and  stood  up 
again  briefly  to  open  the  proceedings.  These  consisted 
in  patriotic  speeches  from  Lieutenant-General  Sir 
William  Hardcastle,  K.C.B.,  and  the  Duke  of  Dum- 
barton, and  the  presentation  of  an  illuminated  scroll 
in  a  gold  casket  to  Miss  Sarah  Ann  Munt. 

278 


First,  a  speech  excellent  in  its  kind,  which  paid 
tribute  to  the  deeds  of  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the 
Empire  in  all  parts  of  the  world;  also  it  emphasized 
the  sternness  of  the  hour  and  the  need  for  "keeping 
on,  keeping  on."  Then,  amid  a  flutter  of  excitement, 
came  the  presentation  to  Miss  Munt.  It  was  made  by 
the  Duke,  a  figure  deservedly  popular  all  over  the 
district  from  which,  to  be  sure,  he  derived  immense 
revenues.  A  master  of  courtly  phrase  and  well  turned 
compliment,  he  gave  the  heroine  of  the  occasion  the 
full  benefit  of  his  powers.  And  when  at  last,  in  the 
purview  of  three  thousand  people,  the  dauntless  Sally 
came  forth  to  the  table  to  receive  the  casket  and  scroll 
she  was  a  sight  to  behold. 

Rather  tall,  very  slender,  brown  of  cheek  and  with 
the  eye  of  a  falcon,  in  her  simple,  faded,  but  much  be- 
ribboned  khaki  she  looked  at  that  moment  a  child  of 
the  gods.  At  the  sight  of  her  a  thrill  ran  through 
the  hall.  Cinema,  newspaper,  picture  postcard  had 
led  that  assembly  to  set  its  hopes  high,  but  the  real- 
ity, in  its  calm  strength,  with  a  faintly  ironical  smile 
fusing  a  noble  fixity  of  purpose,  more  than  fulfilled 
them.  In  the  youngest  daughter  of  the  Mayor  of  the 
city  was  symbolized  the  glorious  spirit  of  the  youth  of 
the  Empire. 

A  hush  came  over  the  great  audience.  The  Duke 
opened  the  casket  and  took  out  the  scroll.  Everybody 
seemed  fascinated  by  her,  including  the  members  of 
her  own  family  in  a  group  at  the  right  hand  of  the 

279 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Chair.  But  there  was  just  one  person  there  who  did 
not  seem  willing  to  submit  without  a  struggle  to  her 
dynamic  influence;  and  that  person  was  her  rather 
rueful,  slightly  scandalized  male  parent. 

Even  now,  in  this,  of  all  moments,  his  worship 
seemed  to  detect  in  that  amazing  personality  the  spirit 
of  Damnable  Independence.  How  many  times  in  the 
past,  in  the  stress  of  combat,  when  it  had  been  his  will 
against  hers,  had  he  seen  that  dogged,  oh-go-to-the- 
devil  look  which  would  surely  have  driven  him  mad 
had  not  he  been  weak  enough  to  admire  it  secretly. 
There  was  no  getting  topside  of  a  look  of  that  kind. 
As  she  stood  in  the  presence  of  the  ducal  necktie, 
with  a  faint  trace  of  humorous  scorn  at  the  corners 
of  her  lips,  the  outraged  Chairman  suddenly  caught 
and  fixed  her  eye.  And  as  he  did  so  his  own  eye,  as 
of  old,  seemed  to  say  to  her,  "One  word  from  You, 
our  Sally,  and  I'll  give  You  such  a  Lammoxing!" 

The  casket  and  scroll  were  handed  to  Miss  Munt, 
who  acknowledged  them  with  a  graceful  inclination 
of  an  imperial  head,  and  then  cheers  broke  out  in  a 
hurricane.  In  part,  no  doubt,  they  were  inspired  by 
family  associations,  for  her  father  had  grown  vastly 
popular;  but  in  large  measure  they  were  due  beyond 
a  doubt  to  sheer  power  of  personality.  The  secret 
force  which  distinguishes  one  human  being  from  an- 
other, over  and  beyond  their  works  and  their  walk 
in  life,  belonged  to  Sally  in  sovereign  degree.  Her 
portraits  and  her  fame  had  kindled  hopes  which  the 

280 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

dauntless  reality  had  more  than  fulfilled.  In  the  sight 
of  all  she  stood  a  true  daughter  of  her  race,  four- 
square, unconquerable. 

At  last  the  cheers  subsided  and  then  arose  demands 
for  a  speech  from  the  Mayor.  As  the  result  of  as- 
siduous practice  in  war  oratory  Josiah  had  won  re- 
markable success.  He  did  not  pretend  to  polish  or 
to  flights  of  intellect  or  fancy,  but  he  had  a  knack 
of  speechmaking  that  was  immensely  to  the  taste  of 
his  fellow  citizens.  In  response  to  the  insistent  de- 
mand of  the  meeting  he  rose  ponderously. 

On  the  crowded  platform,  as  in  the  body  of  the 
hall  itself,  was  many  a  shrewd  judge  of  men.  The 
average  Briton  of  all  classes  has  an  instinct  in  such 
matters  that  is  almost  uncanny.  He  knows  a  man 
when  he  sees  one.  And  when  the  Mayor  stood  up 
to  address  them,  a  little  yet  not  too  much,  embar- 
rassed by  the  nature  of  his  reception,  all  present  knew 
that  they  saw  one  now.  Charmed  and  delighted  by 
the  heroine  of  the  piece,  so  shrewd  a  body  of  persons 
may  also  have  been  rather  amazed  that  she  had  come 
to  happen.  But,  somehow,  her  father  seemed  to  ex- 
plain her.  A  rough  diamond,  no  doubt,  but  at  that 
moment,  in  his  self-possession,  in  his  self-belief,  in 
his  titanic  grappling  power  when  faced  with  difficulty, 
he  was  an  expression  of  the  genius  of  the  race. 

All  the  same  it  was  not  easy  for  the  Mayor  of 
Blackhampton  to  find  words  at  that  moment.  As  a 
rule,  when  on  his  legs  he  did  not  suffer  a  lack  of  them. 

281 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

He  had  a  natural  gift  of  speech  and  a  faculty  of  hu- 
mor which  found  expression  in  many  a  racy  idiom. 
But  his  powers  threatened  to  desert  him  now. 

"Ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  began.  There  was  a 
pause  and  then  he  began  again.  "Ladies  and  gentle- 
men." There  was  a  second  pause  while  three  thou- 
sand sympathetic  fellow  citizens  hung  upon  the 
phrase.  And  then  at  last  slowly  and  grimly  the  great 
voice  boomed  out,  "Ladies  and  gentlemen,  there  are 
those  who  think  they  can  down  the  Anglo-Saxon  race, 
but" — slight  pause — "they  don't  know  what  they  are 
un-der-ta-kin' " 

There  was  one  pause  more.  It  lasted  but  an  in- 
stant for  the  meeting  broke  out  in  a  roar.  Only  too 
well  had  the  Mayor  interpreted  the  thought  that  was 
dominating  the  minds  of  his  fellow  citizens. 


XLIY 

ON  the  Sunday  after  the  famous  meeting  at  the 
Floral  Hall,  Bill  paid  a  first  visit  to  Strath- 
fieldsaye.  He  was  loth  to  yield  to  the  will  of  his 
father-in-law,  but  Josiah  would  take  no  denial.  Cor- 
poral Hollis  was  a  stubborn  man,  but  no  one  under 
the  rank  of  a  field  marshal  could  hope  to  resist  ef- 
fectively the  Mayor  of  Blackhampton  in  his  second 
year  of  office. 

Due  notice  was  given  by  Josiah  that  he  was  going 
personally  to  fetch  Melia  on  Sunday  afternoon.  He  in- 
tended to  drive  in  his  car  to  Love  Lane  for  that  pur- 
pose. On  the  way  back  he  would  call  at  the  hospital 
for  the  Corporal  "who  must  come  along  up  home  and 
drink  a  dish  of  tea  with  Maria." 

The  program  was  not  exactly  to  the  taste  of  Bill, 
who  had  little  use  for  tea  and  perhaps  even  less  use 
for  his  "in-laws."  But  what  could  he  do  in  face  of 
the  Mayor's  ukase? 

Thus  it  was  that  in  the  twilight  of  a  memorable 
Sunday  the  Corporal  made  his  first  appearance  in 
Strathfieldsaye's  spacious  drawing-room.  In  the  past 
month  his  leg  had  surprisingly  improved,  but  final  re- 
covery would  be  long  and  slow,  and  he  still  required 
two  crutches.  On  entering  the  room  he  was  a  little 

283 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

disconcerted  to  find  so  distinguished  a  company,  for 
in  addition  to  the  Mayoress,  mutely  superb  at  the  tea 
table,  was  Mrs.  Doctor  Cockburn,  more  vocal  in  black 
velvet,  Miss  Preston,  as  usual,  touched  with  fashion, 
and,  standing  on  the  hearthrug,  near  the  fire,  in  her 
faded  khaki  was  the  slight  but  martial  form  of  Sally. 

The  presence  of  Sally  was  a  surprise  to  the  Mayor. 
He  had  not  expected  to  see  her  there,  and  as  soon  as 
his  eye  lit  on  her  he  gave  a  start.  First  of  all,  how- 
ever, he  shepherded  the  Corporal  into  a  comfortable 
chair  with  a  tenderness  hard  to  credit  in  him,  fixing 
up  the  injured  leg  on  a  second  chair  and  laying  the 
crutches  on  the  carpet  by  the  Corporal's  side. 

Having  done  all  this,  the  Mayor  moved  up  to  the 
hearthrug,  his  hand  outstretched.  "Very  glad  to  see 
you  here,  my  gel."  Without  hesitation  and  in  the 
frankest  way  he  kissed  Sally  loudly  upon  the  cheek. 
It  was  manly  and  it  was  also  bold,  for  such  an  act 
seemed  perilously  like  kissing  in  public  a  decidedly  sol- 
dierlike young  man. 

Sally  didn't  seem  to  mind,  however.  She  was  just 
as  frank  and  unaffected  as  her  father.  Moreover, 
she  had  acquired  a  rich  laugh  and  an  authority  of 
manner  almost  the  equal  of  his  own.  She  compli- 
mented him  upon  his  speech  and  quizzically  added 
that  he  ought  to  stand  for  Parliament.  Josiah 
promptly  rejoined  that  if  he  did  he'd  be  as  much  use 
as  some  of  those  jackasses,  no  doubt. 

The  Mayor  then  carried  a  cup  of  tea  to  the  Corporal 
284 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

and  Aunt  Gerty  provided  him  with  bread  and  butter 
and  a  plate  to  put  it  on ;  and  then  Sally  moved  across 
from  the  chimneypiece,  sat  down  very  simply  on  a 
hassock  by  his  side  and  began  at  once  to  talk  to  him. 
Plain,  direct  talk  it  was,  full  of  technical  turns  and 
queer  out-of-the-way  information  which  could  have 
only  come  from  the  most  intimate  first-hand  knowl- 
edge. But  it  was  palpably  unstudied,  without  the  least 
wish  to  pose  or  impress,  and  presently  with  almost 
the  same  air  of  blunt  modesty  the  Corporal  began 
talking  to  her. 

To  Mrs.  Doctor  and  even  to  Miss  Preston  it  seemed 
rather  odd  that  a  real  live  graduate  of  Heaven-knew- 
where  should  sit  tete-a-tete  with  poor  Melia's  husband 
and  be  completely  absorbed  by  him  and  the  crude  halt- 
ing syllables  he  emitted  from  time  to  time.  Still  to 
the  Mayor  himself,  standing  with  his  broad  back  to 
the  fire  and  toying  like  a  large  but  domesticated  wolf 
with  a  buttered  scone,  it  didn't  seem  so  remarkable. 

Josiah,  at  any  rate,  was  able  to  perceive  that  his 
youngest  daughter  and  his  son-in-law  were  occupied 
with  realities.  They  had  been  through  the  fire.  Bat- 
tle, murder,  death  in  every  unspeakable  form  had  been 
their  companions  months  on  end.  These  two  were  full- 
fledged  Initiates  in  an  exclusive  Order. 

The  Mayor,  foursquare  on  the  hearthrug,  had 
never  seemed  more  at  home  in  the  family  circle,  but, 
even  his  noble  self-assurance  abated  a  feather  or  two 
out  of  deference  to  Sally  and  the  Corporal.  They 

285 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

had  been  there.  They  knew.  If  Josiah  had  respect 
for  anything  it  was  for  actual  first-hand  experience. 

Mrs.  Doctor,  however,  was  not  fettered  by  the  van- 
ities of  hero  worship.  In  spite  of  Sally  and  in  spite 
of  the  Corporal  she  was  able  as  usual  to  bring  her 
light  tea-table  artillery  into  play.  At  strategic  inter- 
vals her  high-pitched,  authoritative  voice  took  spas- 
modic charge  of  the  proceedings.  Now  it  was  the 
Egg  Fund  and  the  incompetence  of  Lady  Jope,  now 
the  latest  dicta  of  Miss  Heber-Knollys,  now  the  wide- 
spread complaints  of  the  Duke's  inaudibility  at  the 
Floral  Hall. 

Miss  Preston  fully  agreed.  "So  different  from  you, 
Josiah."  She  was  well  on  the  target  as  usual.  "But 
he  made  up  for  it,  didn't  he,  by  the  nice  things  he 
said  of  you  when  he  opened  the  Annex?" 

"Very  flattering,  wasn't  he?"  Mrs.  Doctor  took  up 
the  ball.  "And  wasn't  it  charming  of  him  to  come 
here  to  lunch.  Such  an  unaffected  man!" 

Josiah  broke  his  scone  in  half  and  held  a  piece  in 
each  hand.  "Why  shouldn't  he  come  here?"  The 
voice  had  the  old  huffiness,  yet  mitigated  now  by  an 
undeniable  twinkle  of  humor.  "He  got  quite  as  good 
food  here  as  he'd  get  at  home,  even  if  we  don't  run 
to  gold  plate  and  flunkeys." 

"Quite,  Josiah,  quite,"  piped  the  undefeated  Gerty. 
"And  only  too  glad,  I'm  sure,  to  come  and  see  the 
Mayor  of  Blackhampton." 

The  laugh  of  his  worship  verged  upon  the  whim- 
286 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

sical.  "Gert,  if  you  want  my  private  opinion,  he 
didn't  come  to  see  me  at  all." 

"Pray,  then,  Father,  who  did  he  come  to  see?" 
fluted  Mrs.  Doctor. 

Josiah  jerked  a  humorous  thumb  in  the  direction 
of  Sally,  who  was  still  tete-a-tete  with  the  Corporal. 

"Nonsense,  Father." 

"Well,  it's  my  opinion." 

It  was  hard  for  Mrs.  Doctor  to  believe  that  her 
youngest  sister  could  be  the  attraction.  But  her  father 
was  clear  upon  the  point.  And  that  being  the  case 
it  made  the  pity  all  the  greater  that  Sally  had  declined 
the  invitation  to  be  present.  She  had  been  urged  to 
come  to  luncheon  and  meet  the  Duke  who  was  anx- 
ious to  meet  her,  but  she  had  preferred  to  stay  at 
Park  Crescent  and  play  with  the  children. 

So  like  her ! 


XLV 

D'YOU  mind  if  I  smoke,  Mother?" 
The  lady  at  the  tea-table  looked  mutely  at 
her  lord. 

Josiah  nodded  graciously.  "Do  as  you  like,  gel." 
Sally  produced  a  wisp  of  paper  and  a  very  mascu- 
line tobacco  pouch  and  began  rolling  a  cigarette  in  an 
extremely  competent  manner.  Josiah  proffered  a  box 
of  Egyptian  but  Sally  preferred  her  own  and  struck 
a  match  on  the  sole  of  her  shoe  in  a  fashion  at  once 
so  accomplished  and  so  boylike  as  to  take  away  the 
breath  of  her  mother  and  Aunt  Gerty. 

As  she  sat  talking  easily  and  yet  gravely  to  the 
Corporal  with  her  long  straight  legs  and  trim  ankles 
freely  displayed  by  a  surprisingly  short  khaki  skirt 
she  looked  more  like  a  boy  than  ever.  And  such  was 
the  thought  in  the  minds  of  the  other  three  ladies,  who 
agreed  tacitly  that  the  skirt  and  the  cigarette  and  the 
astonishing  freedom  of  pose  were  not  quite  maidenly. 
Still  with  those  ribbons,  and  that  clear  deep  voice  and 
that  wonderful  eye  she  was  fascinating.  Even  her 
father,  who  on  principle  declined  to  admire  her 
Damnable  Independence,  was  unable  to  resist  the  im- 
pact of  a  personality  that  was  now  world  famous. 

288 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

Gazing  at  her  in  stern  astonishment  he  pointed  to 
her  abbreviated  lower  garment  "Excuse  me,  gel,"  he 
said,  "but  do  you  mind  telling  us  what  you've  got 
underneath  ?" 

Sally  deigned  no  reply  in  words,  but  stuck  the  ciga- 
rette in  the  corner  of  her  mouth  with  unconscious  grace 
and  dexterously  lifted  her  skirt.  A  decidedly  work- 
manlike pair  of  knickerbockers  was  disclosed. 

Josiah  gasped. 

The  unconcerned  Sally  continued  to  talk  with  the 
Corporal,  while  the  Mayor,  half  scandalized,  strug- 
gled against  a  guffaw.  "Things  seem  to  be  chang- 
ing a  bit,  as  you  might  say.  Don't  you  think  so, 
Mother?" 

Aunt  Gerty  took  upon  herself  to  answer,  as  she 
often  did,  for  poor  bewildered  Maria.  "I  fully  agree, 
Josiah."  She  lowered  her  discreet  voice.  "But  al- 
most a  pity  .  .  .  almost  a  pity  .  .  .  don't  you  think  ?" 

The  Mayor  pursed  his  lips.  "Durned  if  I  know 
what  to  think,  Gert."  He  scratched  a  dubious  head. 
"Seems  to  me  the  Empire  is  not  going  to  be  short  o' 
man  power  for  some  little  time  to  come,  eh?" 

"Still  .  .  .  not  .  .  .  quite  .  .  .  maidenly  .  .  .  Jo- 
siah." 

"Daresay  you're  right."  The  Mayor  fought  down 
his  feelings.  "Next  chicken  on  the  roost'll  be  the 
hussy  puttin'  up  for  parliament." 

"Bound  to  get  in  if  she  does,"  Gerty  sounded  rather 
rueful.  "There  isn't  a  constituency  in  England  that 

289 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

wouldn't  jump  at  the  chance  of  electing  her  just  now." 

Josiah  breathed  hard  while  this  obvious  truth  sank 
into  his  bo'nes,  but  Mrs.  Doctor  assured  Gerty  that 
she  was  talking  nonsense.  Her  father  being  frankly 
opposed  to  this  pious  opinion,  Ethel  appealed  to  her 
mother.  Maria,  alas,  was  in  the  position  of  a  mod- 
est wether  who  has  given  birth  to  a  superb  young 
panther.  She  simply  didn't  know  what  to  think,  and 
by  forlornly  folding  her  hands  on  her  lap  gave  mute 
expression  to  her  feelings. 

At  the  best,  however,  it  was  a  futile  discussion  as 
Gerty  was  quick  to  realize.  She  turned  the  talk 
adroitly  into  other  channels.  "This  morning,"  she 
said,  "as  I  was  walking  along  Queen's  Road  I  had 
quite  a  shock.  I  met  a  blind  man  being  led  by  an  old 
woman.  And  who  do  you  think  it  was?" 

Mrs.  Doctor  had  no  idea  who  it  could  be. 

"It  was  Harold  Nixey  the  architect.  Such  a  piti- 
ful object!  Did  you  know,  Josiah,  that  he  is  now 
quite  blind?" 

Josiah  was  aware  of  the  fact. 

"How  sad,  how  very  sad!"  said  Ethel.  "And  he 
has  done  so  well,  so  wonderfully  well,  in  France." 

Gerty  considered  it  nothing  less  than  a  calamity — 
for  an  architect  of  all  people.  And  for  one  who 
promised  such  great  things. 

Sally  was  apparently  absorbed  in  talk  with  the 
Corporal,  but  she  lifted  her  eyes  quickly.  "Blind, 
did  you  say?  Harold  Nixey?" 

290 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"Yes,"  said  Gerty.     "Such  a  grievous  thing." 

"Aye,  it  is  that!"  The  voice  of  Josiah  was  heavy 
and  somber. 

Ethel  hoped  for  his  recovery. 

Her  father  shook  his  head.  "From  what  they  tell 
me  the  sight  is  completely  destroyed.  I  was  with  the 
lad  yesterday."  It  was  clear  from  Josiah's  manner 
that  he  was  moved  by  real  feeling.  "Wonderful  pluck 
and  cheerfulness.  He  knows  he'll  never  draw  an- 
other elevation,  but  he  pretends  to  that  old  mother 
of  his  that  he's  going  to  get  better — just  to  keep  her 
going." 

"And  you  say,  Father" — it  was  the  slow  precise 
voice  of  Sally — "that  he  can't  get  better?" 

"Not  a  dog's  chance  from  what  Minyard  the  eye 
doctor  tells  me.  It's  a  gas  those  devils  have  been  us- 
ing." The  Mayor  sighed.  "He's  a  good  lad,  is  that. 
And  he'd  have  gone  far.  Rose  from  nothing,  as  you 
might  say,  but  in  a  year  or  two  he'd  have  been  at  the 
top  of  the  tree."  Josiah,  whose  gospel  was  "getting 
on,"  again  sighed  heavily. 

"I  think  I'll  go  and  see  him,  Father,  if  you'll  give 
me  his  address."  Again  the  slow,  precise  voice  of 
Sally. 

"Do.  It'll  be  a  kindness.  Number  Fourteen,  Tor- 
rington  Avenue.  The  second  turn  on  the  right  past 
the  Brewery  along  Corfield  Road.  Pleased  to  have 
a  visit  from  you,  I'm  sure.  He  talked  about  you  a 
lot.  His  mother  had  read  him  the  Tribune's  account 

291 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

of  Thursday.  He  says  he  used  to  know  you  in  Lon- 
don when  he  was  studying  at  South  Kensington." 

Under  Sally's  deep  tan  the  blood  imperceptibly 
mounted.  "Yes,  I  used  to  know  him  quite  well." 
She  didn't  add  that  she  had  refused  rather  peremp- 
torily to  marry  him. 

"Well,  go  and  see  him,  gel.  A  very  good  soldier 
they  tell  me — D.S.O.  and  M.C.  with  two  bars." 

"Two  bars,  Josiah!"  Gerty  put  up  her  glasses 
impressively. 

"And  earned  'em — they  tell  me.  Come  to  think  of 
it,  it's  wonderful  what  some  of  these  young  chaps 
have  done." 

"And  some  of  the  older  ones,  too,  Josiah."  Gerty 
looked  across  at  the  Corporal  who  was  toying  pen- 
sively with  a  cigarette  that  had  been  pressed  upon 
him. 

"Aye,  and  some  of  the  old  uns,  too!"  The  Mayor 
followed  the  glance  of  his  sister-in-law  with  the  eye 
of  perfect  candor.  "And  not  been  brought  up  to  it, 
mark  you.  They  tell  me  our  B.B.  is  second  to  none 
in  the  British  Army." 

The  Corporal  looked  as  if  he  would  like  to  have 
confirmed  the  Mayor's  statement  had  he  not  remem- 
bered that  professional  etiquette  required  so  delicate 
a  topic  to  be  left  exclusively  to  civilians. 

Sally  and  Ethel  went  after  awhile,  and  Josiah  led 
the  Corporal  across  the  hall  to  what  he  called  "his 
snuggery,"  wherein  he  considered  his  business  affairs 

292 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

and  the  affairs  of  the  City,  and,  although  by  no  means 
a  reading  man,  occasionally  referred  to  the  Encyclo- 
pedia Britannica  and  kindred  works.  He  was  at  pains 
to  dispose  the  Corporal  in  comfort  near  the  fire  and 
then  gave  him  an  excellent  cigar  and  insisted  on  his 
smoking  it. 

At  first  little  passed  between  them  in  the  way  of 
words.  They  smoked  in  silence,  but  the  Corporal 
could  not  help  thinking,  as  he  delicately  savored  the 
best  cigar  he  had  ever  held  between  his  fingers,  how 
much  prosperity  had  improved  "the  Mester."  He  was 
so  much  mellower,  so  much  more  generous  than  of 
yore.  His  outlook  on  the  world  was  bigger  alto- 
gether; the  Corporal's  own  outlook  was  larger  also; 
somehow,  he  had  not  the  heart  to  resist  the  peace  over- 
tures of  his  father-in-law. 

Said  Josiah  at  last,  pointing  to  the  Corporal's  leg: 
"A  longish  job,  I  expect." 

The  doctors  seemed  to  think  it  might  be.  Still  it 
had  got  the  turn  now.  It  was  beginning  to  mend. 

"I've  been  wondering,"  said  the  Mayor,  "whether 
it  mightn't  be  possible  to  get  you  transferred  to  mu- 
nitions. Johnson  and  Hartley  are  short  o'  foremen. 
Pound  a  day  to  begin  with.  What  do  you  say,  my 
boy?" 

The  Corporal  gazed  into  the  fire  without  saying 
anything. 

Said  the  Mayor,  half  apologetically,  "You're  not 
so  young  as  you  were,  you  see.  Forty-three,  they  tell 

293 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

me,  is  a  bit  long  in  the  tooth  for  the  trenches.  And 
you've  done  your  bit.  Why  not  give  some  o'  the 
younger  ones  a  chance  ?" 

In  silence  the  Corporal  went  on  gazing  into  the  fire. 

"Anyhow  it  might  be  worth  thinking  over." 

The  Corporal  removed  the  cigar  from  his  mouth 
and  appeared  laconically  to  agree  that  it  might  be 
worth  thinking  over.  But  the  suggestion  didn't  seem 
to  fire  him. 

A  deeper  silence  followed  and  then  said  the  Mayor 
with  a  certain  gruff  abruptness  which  was  a  partial 
return  to  the  old  manner,  "I'm  thinking  it'll  be  a  good 
thing  for  Melia  to  quit  Love  Lane.  She's  not  done  so 
bad  with  the  business  lately,  but  it  might  be  wise  to 
sell  it  now.  And  she'll  be  none  the  worse  for  a  rest 
in  country  air.  Happen  I  told  you  that  back  in  the 
spring  I  bought  that  cottage  up  at  Dibley  that  that 
artist  chap — I  forget  his  name  for  the  moment — used 
to  come  and  paint  in.  Rare  situation — sandstone  foun- 
dation— highest  point  in  the  county — see  for  miles 
from  his  studio  at  the  end  o'  the  garden.  Don't  quite 
know  why  I  bought  it  except  that  it  was  going  cheap. 
An  old  property — nobody  seemed  to  fancy  it — but  the 
freehold  is  not  going  to  get  less  in  value  if  I'm  a 
judge  o'  such  matters  and  the  place  is  in  pretty  good 
condition.  Suppose,  my  boy,  you  and  Melia  moved 
in  there?  Save  me  a  caretaker,  and  some  o'  the  fin- 
est air  in  Europe  comes  down  the  valley  of  the  Shar- 
row." 

294 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

The  heart  of  the  Corporal  leaped  at  these  amazing 
words,  but  his  eyes  were  still  fixed  upon  the  fire. 

"What  was  the  name  o'  that  artist  chap?  A  local 
man,  but  quite  well  up,  they  tell  me." 

"Stanning,  R.A."  Something  hard  and  queer  rose 
in  the  Corporal's  throat. 

"That's  the  jockey — Stanning,  R.A.  Now  I  remem- 
ber ...  a  rare  dust  there  was  in  the  Council  some 
years  ago  when  the  Art  Committee  bought  one  of  his 
pictures  for  .  .  ."  The  Mayor  drew  heavily  at  his 
cigar  .  .  .  "for  .  .  .  dram  it!  I'm  losing  my  mem- 
ory. .  .  ." 

"A  thousand  guineas,"  the  Corporal  whispered. 

"Something  like  that.  Something  extortionate.  I 
remember  there  was  a  proper  dust  when  the  Council 
got  to  know  of  it.  All  very  well  to  encourage  local 
talent,  I  remember  saying,  but  a  thousand  guineas  was 
money.  Maxon  the  curator  resigned." 

The  Corporal  kept  his  eyes  on  the  fire. 

With  a  rich  chuckle  the  Mayor  turned  over  the  cigar 
in  his  mouth  at  the  memory  of  old  battles  in  the  Coun- 
cil Chamber.  "The  fur  flew  for  a  bit,  I  can  tell  you. 
He  wasn't  an  R.A.  at  that  time  and  the  poor  chap's 
gone  now  so  happen  he'll  begin  to  rank  as  an  old 
master.  They  tell  me  fabulous  sums  are  paid  for 
these  old  masters,  so  one  o'  these  days  Stanning, 
R.A.,  may  grow  into  money  and  the  City'll  have  a 
bargain  after  all.  But  I  don't  pretend  to  understand 
such  things  myself.  A  brave  man,  anyway.  Joined 

295 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

tip  with  the  B.B.  at  the  beginning  and  was  killed  out 
yonder." 

The  Corporal  nodded  but  said  nothing.  The  Mayor 
went  on  with  his  cigar.  "I'm  trying  to  remember  the 
name  of  another  artist  chap  who  used  to  live  in  that 
cottage  when  I  was  a  boy.  We  used  to  jang  from 
school  on  fine  afternoons  in  the  summer  and  go  bath- 
ing in  Corfield  Weir.  And  painting  by  the  river 
was  an  old  chap  with  a  long  beard  like  Tennyson — 
you've  seen  the  picture  of  Tennyson" — Josiah  pointed 
to  a  lithograph  of  the  bard  on  the  wall  behind  the 
Corporal — "but  not  quite  so  fierce  looking.  Wonder- 
ful blue  eyes  had  that  old  feller  .  .  .  lord  love  me, 
what  did  they  call  him!  ...  I  remember  we  used  to 
throw  stones  at  his  easel.  We  got  one  right  through 
it  once,  when  he  had  nearly  finished  his  picture  and 
he  had  to  begin  all  over  again.  What  was  the  name 
of  the  old  feller?"  The  Mayor  fingered  his  cigar 
lovingly  and  looked  into  the  fire.  "Soft  Billy  .  .  . 
that  was  it.  ...  Soft  Billy."  Josiah  sighed  gently. 
"Poor,  harmless  old  boy.  I  can  see  those  blue  eyes 
now." 

The  Mayor  drew  gently  at  his  cigar  while  the  Cor- 
poral kept  his  eyes  on  the  fire.  "That  reminds  me. 
.  .  .  I've  got  one  of  the  old  chap's  pictures,  some- 
where." The  Mayor  laughed  softly  to  himself.  "Took 
it  for  a  bad  debt  .  .  .  quite  a  small  thing  .  .  .  won- 
der what's  become  of  it?"  He  grew  pensive.  "Must 

296 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

be  up  in  the  box  room."  Suddenly  he  rose  from  his 
chair.  "I'll  go  and  see  if  I  can  find  it." 

The  man  of  action  went  out  of  the  room,  leaving 
the  Corporal  in  silent  enjoyment  of  warmth,  the  to- 
bacco and  many  reflections. 

In  a  few  minutes  Josiah  returned  in  triumph  with 
a  small  piece  of  unframed  canvas  in  his  hand.  He 
rang  the  bell  for  a  duster,  of  which  it  was  much  in 
need,  and  when  the  duster  had  been  duly  applied  he 
held  the  picture  up  to  the  light.  "It  wants  a  frame." 
The  tone  was  indulgent  but  casual.  "Looks  like  Dib- 
ley  Chase  to  me."  He  handed  the  landscape  to  the 
Corporal  who  gazed  at  it  with  wistful  eagerness. 

"Dibley  Chase  was  always  a  favorite  pitch  for  these 
artist  chaps.  See  the  Sharrow  gleaming  between  the 
trees?"  Josiah  traced  with  his  finger  the  line  of  the 
river.  "I  like  that  bit  o'  sun  creeping  down  the  val- 
ley. Good  work  in  it,  I  daresay  .  .  .  but  I  don't 
pretend  to  be  up  in  such  matters.  Very  small  but  it 
may  be  worth  a  frame.  Been  up  in  the  attic  at  Wa- 
terloo Villa  for  years  .  .  .  aye,  long  before  Waterloo 
Villa.  .  .  ."  Josiah  took  a  loving  puff  of  his  cigar. 
"I  must  have  had  that  picture  when  I  first  went  to  the 
Duke  o'  Wellington  in  March,  '79.  How  time  gets 
on!  Had  it  of  that  lame  chap  who  used  to  keep  the 
Corfield  Arms  who  went  up  the  spout  finally.  Used  to 
supply  him  with  beer.  Gave  me  this  for  a  barrel  he 
couldn't  pay  for."  The  Mayor  laughed  richly  and 
put  on  his  spectacles.  "Can  you  see  the  name  o'  the 

297 


artist?  What  was  the  name  o'  that  old  Soft  Billy 
...  ha,  there  it  is."  The  Mayor  brought  his  thumb 
to  bear  on  the  right-hand  corner.  "  *J.  Torrington, 
1854'  ...  a  long  time  ago.  John  Torrington,  that 
was  his  name  .  .  .  some  of  his  work  grew  in  value, 
I've  heard  say.  A  harmless  old  man !" 

The  Mayor  sighed  a  little  and  gave  himself  up  to 
old  memories  while  the  Corporal  held  the  picture  in 
his  hand.  "Soft  Jack  .  .  .  aye,  that  was  his  name. 
...  I  can  see  him  now  with  his  white  beard  and  long 
hair  .  .  .  I'm  speakin'  of  fifty  years  ago  Soft  Jack, 
yes  .  .  .  had  been  a  good  painter  so  they  said  .  .  . 
but  an  old  man,  then.  Used  to  sit  by  the  Weir  paint- 
ing the  sun  on  the  water.  I've  pitched  many  a  stone 
at  his  easel  ...  in  the  summertime  after  bathing." 

The  Corporal  was  too  absorbed  in  the  picture  to 
heed  the  Mayor's  reminiscences.  Josiah  laughed  soft- 
ly at  his  thoughts  and  chose  a  second  cigar.  "Too 
small  to  be  worth  much,"  he  said.  "But  Melia  might 
like  it.  She  was  always  a  one  for  pictures.  We'll  pop 
a  bit  o'  the  Tribune  round  it  and  she  can  stick  it  in 
the  front  parlor  up  at  Dibley  where  the  old  boy  lived 
and  died." 


XLVI 

THE  next  morning,  Monday,  towards  eleven 
o'clock,  Sally  dropped  expertly  off  the  municipal 
tram,  without  waiting  for  it  to  stop,  at  the  second  turn 
on  the  right  past  the  Brewery,  along  the  suburban  end 
of  the  Corfield  Road,  and  entered  a  street  that  she 
had  never  seen  before. 

Torrington  Avenue  was  one  of  those  thoroughfares 
on  the  edge  of  large  cities  that  seem  to  spring  into 
being  in  a  day  and  a  night.  In  spite  of  the  obvious 
haste  with  which  its  small  houses  had  been  flung  to- 
gether it  was  not  unpleasing.  But  when  Sally  was 
last  in  her  native  city,  a  year  before  the  war,  this  area 
had  been  a  market  garden. 

Number  Fourteen  was  a  well  kept  little  dwelling  in 
the  middle  of  a  neat  row.  Just  as  Sally  reached  it, 
an  old  woman  with  a  wicker  shopping  basket  came 
out  of  the  iron  gate. 

"Mrs.  Nixey?" 

The  visitor  had  recognized  the  old  lady  but  the 
converse  did  not  hold  true. 

"You  don't  remember  me,  Mrs.  Nixey.  I'm  Sally 
Munt." 

The  old  lady  gave  vent  to  surprise,  pleasure,  in- 
299 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

credulity.  But  even  then  she  was  not  able  to  iden- 
tify one  who  but  a  few  years  ago  had  been  almost  as 
familiar  to  her  as  her  own  son  until  Sally  had  lifted 
her  cap  and  rolled  back  the  fur  collar  of  her  immense 
khaki  overcoat. 

"Well,  I  never !"  The  old  woman's  voice  was  shrill 
and  excited.  "It  is  Miss  Munt.  I  am  pleased  to  see 
you,  my  dear."  The  distinguished  visitor  suddenly 
received  a  peck  on  a  firm  brown  cheek.  "He  knows 
all  about  you.  I  read  him  the  account  of  the  doings 
at  the  Floral  Hall.  He  wanted  to  be  there,  but  the 
Doctor  thought  it  wouldn't  be  good  for  him.  It  is 
kind  of  you  to  come  and  see  him  .  .  .  It'll  please  him 
so." 

Sally  cut  the  old  lady  short  with  a  brief,  pointed 
question  or  two.  He  was  very  well  in  health  except 
that  he  couldn't  see,  but  he  was  always  telling  his 
mother  that  he  was  quite  sure  he  would  be  able  to 
see  presently,  although  Dr.  Minyard  had  told  her  pri- 
vately that  he  couldn't  promise  anything. 

The  old  lady  led  the  way  along  the  short  path  and 
applied  a  latchkey  to  the  front  door.  As  it  opened, 
Sally  caught  the  delicately  played  notes  of  a  piano 
floating  softly  across  the  tiny  hall. 

"He  plays  for  hours  and  hours  and  hours,"  said 
the  old  lady.  "Your  dear  father  has  just  given  him 
a  beautiful  new  piano.  He's  been  such  a  friend  to 
Harold.  Wonderful  the  interest  he's  taken  in  him." 

She  opened  the  door  of  a  small  sitting  room,  whence 
300 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

the  music  came,  but  the  player  wholly  absorbed  did 
not  hear  them  enter. 

"Harold,  who  do  you  think  has  come  to  see  you !" 

As  the  piano  stopped  and  the  musician  swung  round 
slowly  on  his  stool,  Sally  shivered  at  the  pallor  of 
the  face  and  the  closed  eyes.  She  saw  that  tears  were 
trickling  from  them. 

"Miss  Munt  has  come  to  see  you."  There  was  ex- 
citement in  the  voice  of  the  old  lady.  "You  remember 
Miss  Sally  of  Waterloo  Villa.  And  to  think  what 
we've  been  reading  about  her  in  the  Tribune!" 

The  musician  sprang  up  with  a  boy's  impulsive- 
ness. "You  don't  say,  Mother — you  don't  say !"  The 
eager  voice  had  a  music  of  its  own.  "Where  are  you, 
Miss  Sally  ?"  He  held  out  his  hand.  "Put  your  hand 
there  and  then  I  shall  believe  it." 

Sally  did  as  she  was  asked. 

"Well,  well,  it's  really  the  great  and  famous  you." 
He  seemed  to  caress  that  strong  and  competent  paw 
with  his  delicate  fingers. 

She  couldn't  find  the  courage  to  say  anything. 

But  he  did  not  allow  the  silence  to  become  awk- 
ward. "Better  go  and  look  after  your  coupons, 
Mother,  while  Miss  Sally  and  I  talk  shop." 

Upon  that  plain  hint  the  old  lady  went  away,  clos- 
ing the  front  door  after  her,  and  then  the  blind  man 
helped  the  visitor  to  take  off  her  heavy  coat  and  put 
her  into  a  chair.  He  found  his  way  back  to  the  music 
stool  without  difficulty,  but  in  sitting  down  He 

301 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

brushed  the  keys  of  the  piano  with  his  coat  sleeve. 

"Your  dear,  good  father  gave  me  this.  A  wonder- 
ful improvement  on  the  one  we've  scrapped.  Did  you 
hear  me  murdering  Beethoven  as  you  came  in  ?  One's 
only  chance  now  to  score  off  the  poor  blighters !"  His 
cheerfulness,  his  whimsical  courage,  were  amazing  to 
Sally.  "Since  last  we  met  things  have  happened, 
haven't  they?  South  Kensington  Tube  Station,  De- 
cember, 1913.  ^Eons  ago."  He  sighed  like  a  child. 
"By  the  way,  tell  me,  did  you  get  a  letter  I  sent  to  you 
when  you  did  your  'go'  of  time?" 

Sally  had  received  the  letter.  Soft  the  admission 
and  also  blushing,  although  he  could  not  see  that. 

"Wasn't  meant  as  an  impertinence,  though  perhaps 
it  was  one.  Always  doing  the  wrong  things  at  that 
time,  wasn't  I?  And  I'm  saying  'em  now.  Born  un- 
der bad  stars."  He  laughed  a  little  and  paused.  "Jove! 
what  wonderful  things  you've  done,  though." 

"I've  had  luck."    Her  voice  was  firm  at  last. 

"Not  more  than  you  deserve.  Hell  of  a  time  in  Ser- 
bia .  .  .  must  have  had.  Don't  know  how  you  man- 
aged to  come  through  it." 

"Just  the  stars."  Sally  laughed  a  little  now.  But 
never  in  her  life  had  she  felt  so  little  like  laughing. 
She  remembered  that  she  used  to  think  him  a  bounder ; 
she  remembered  how  much  his  proposal  had  annoyed 
her.  Yet  he  was  just  the  same  now — the  same  Har- 
old Nixey — only  raised  to  a  higher  power.  Once 

302 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

she  had  despised  his  habit  of  thinking  aloud,  yet  now 
it  almost  enchanted  her.  .  .  . 

But  she  was  not  very  forthcoming.  He  seemed  to 
have  to  do  the  talking  for  both.  "Fritz  beginning  to 
get  cold  feet,  do  you  think  ?" 

She  didn't  think  so. 

"What  are  you  doing  now?"  It  was  the  dry  tone 
of  the  professional  soldier. 

"I'm  detailed  for  special  duty  in  France."  The  tone 
of  Sally  was  professional  also. 

He  sighed  a  gentle,  "When?" 

"Off  to-morrow." 

He  sighed  again. 

"It  was  not  until  last  evening," — her  voice  changed 
oddly — "that  I  heard  you  were  at  home." 

"Nice  of  you  to  come  and  see  me,"  he  said.  "You 
must  excuse  the  room  being  in  a  litter."  There  was 
a  table  in  the  center  on  which  was  a  drawing  board, 
geometrical  instruments,  many  sheets  of  paper.  "I've 
been  trying  to  work.  I'm  always  trying  .  .  .  but 
.  .  .  you  need  eyes  to  be  an  architect  .  .  .  you  need 
eyes." 

Sally  was  suddenly  pierced  by  the  thought  of  his 
ambition  and  his  passion  for  work.  He  was  going  to 
do  so  much,  he  had  begun  so  well. 

"I  have  an  idea  for  a  new  cathedral  for  Louvain. 
Been  studying  ecclesiastical  architecture  for  years  in 
my  spare  time."  As  he  paused  his  face  looked  ghast- 
ly. "It's  all  in  my  head  ...  but  ..  ." 

303 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"Is  it  possible" — she  could  hardly  speak — "for  any 
one  to  help  you — in  the  details,  I  mean?" 

"They  would  have  to  get  right  inside  my  mind  .  .  . 
some  one  practical  .  .  .  yet  very  sympathetic  .  .  .  and 
then  the  chances  are  that  it  wouldn't  work  out." 

"It  might,  though." 

"Somehow,  I  don't  think  so."  He  was  curiouoly 
frank.  "I  tell  myself  it  might,  just  to  keep  going. 
There's  always  the  bare  chance  if  I  get  the  right  per- 
son to  help  me  .  .  .  some  one  with  great  intelligence, 
great  insight,  great  sympathy,  yet  without  ideas  of 
their  own." 

"You  mean  they  wouldn't  have  to  know  too  much  ?" 

"That's  it  ...  not  know  too  much.  They  would 
have  to  sink  their  individuality  in  ...  in  one  who 
couldn't.  .  .  .  Your  father  suggested  a  partnership. 
But  it  wouldn't  be  fair,  would  it?  Besides  I  should 
be  terribly  trying  to  work  with  .  .  .  terribly  trying 
.  .  .  perhaps  impossible." 

"Do  you  think  you  would  be?" 

"In  a  partnership,  yes.  It  couldn't  answer.  I'm  so 
creative.  ...  I  have  always  to  stamp  myself  on  my 
work  ...  if  you  know  what  I  mean.  Then  ...  as 
I  say  ...  I  don't  know  yet  ,  .  .  that  ...  I  can 
pick  up  all  the  threads  that  have  been.  .  .  ." 

"You  need,"  said  Sally  slowly  and  softly,  "some  in- 
telligent amateur,  capable  of  drawing  a  ground  plan, 
who  would  give  himself  up  to  you." 

He  threw  up  his  head  eagerly.     "That's  it  ... 
304 


somebody  quite  intelligent  .  .  .  but  without  ambition 
.  .  .  who  would" — the  voice  <began  to  tail  off  queerly 
— "have  the  courage  .  .  .  not  to  mind  .  .  .  the  fero- 
cious egotism  ...  of  the  .  .  .  baffled."  Suddenly  he 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"It  wouldn't  take  me  very  long  to  learn  the  rudi- 
ments, I  think,"  said  Sally.  "I'm  rather  quick  at  pick- 
ing up  the  things  that  interest  me.  It  would  be  enor- 
mously interesting  to  see  what  could  be  done  with  this 
_this " 

"But  you  are  off  to  France  to-morrow." 

"The  war  won't  last  forever." 

The  tone  of  her  voice  startled  him.  His  heart  leapt 
queerly.  There  was  a  time,  not  so  long  ago,  when  he 
would  have  given  his  soul  to  have  surprised  just  that 
note  in  it.  He  began  to  shake  violently. 

With  all  the  will  his  calamity  had  left  him  he  strove 
to  hold  himself  in.  Her  voice  was  music,  her  near- 
ness magical;  what  she  offered  him  now  was  beyond 
his  wildest  hopes.  Once  he  had  jumped  at  her  too 
soon,  in  a  moment  of  delirium;  but  he  had  always 
known,  by  force  of  the  strong  temperament,  that  was 
such  a  torment  to  him  now,  that  she  was  the  only 
woman  in  the  world  he  would  ever  really  care  for. 

"I  see  just  the  kind  of  helper  you  need."  Divinely 
practical,  yet  divinely  modern!  "I  could  mug  up  my 
drawing  in  a  week  or  two  and  I  should  never  know 
enough  to  want  to  interfere  with  anything  that  mat- 
tered." 

305 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

He  held  himself  tensely  like  one  who  sees  a  preci- 
pice yawning  under  his  feet.  "America  coming  in, 
do  you  think?"  It  was  a  heroic  change  of  voice. 
"I  wish  she  would.  I'm  afraid  it  may  be  a  draw 
without  her." 

Sally,  with  all  her  ribbons  and  her  uniform,  could 
rise  to  no  immediate  interest  in  America. 

"Our  poor  lads  have  had  an  awful  grueling  on  the 
Somme.  Seven  hundred  thousand  casualties  and  noth- 
ing to  show  for  it  so  far." 

"I  know."  The  sightless  eyes  were  lacerating  her. 
"They  ought  to  help  us.  It's  their  war  as  much  as 
it's  ours." 

"We  can't  blame  them  for  staying  out.  Can't  blame 
anybody  for  staying  out.  But  we'll  never  get  the 
right  peace  unless  they  help  us." 

"Some  people  think  they'd  not  make  much  differ- 
ence." 

"My  God !"  It  was  the  vehemence  she  used  not  to 
like.  "They'd  simply  tip  the  scale.  Have  you  ever 
been  there?" 

"No." 

"I  have.  Some  country,  America.  They've  pinched 
our  best  Torrington,  curse  them  .  .  .  not  that  that  took 
me  there.  One  afternoon,  though,  I  happened  to  be 
looking  for  it  in  a  moldy,  one-horse  museum  just  off 
Washington  Square — I  forget  the  name  of  it — when 
I  walked  straight  into  the  arms  of  dear  old  Jim  Stan- 

306 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

ning  who  had  actually  come  all'the  way  from  Europe 
on  purpose  to  gaze  at  it." 

Sally  emitted  becoming  surprise. 

"If  you  read  that  in  a  novel  you'd  say  it  was  the 
sort  of  thing  that  doesn't  happen.  But  it  did  happen. 
Fancy  old  Jim  coming  all  those  miles  by  flood  and 
field  to  look  at  a  strip  of  canvas  not  as  big  as  that 
drawing  board.  The  Valley  of  the  Sharrow  on  an  af- 
ternoon in  July.'  By  the  way,  did  you  ever  happen  to 
meet  him  ?" 

Sally  had  never  met  Stanning  the  painter. 

"One  of  the  whitest  men  that  ever  lived.  Lies  out 
there.  A  great  chap,  Jim  Stanning.  Another  Tor- 
rington  almost  for  a  certainty  .  .  .  although  he  doubted 
himself,  whether  he  was  big  enough  to  fight  his  own 
success.  See  what  he  meant?" 

It  thrilled  him  a  little  when  he  realized  that  she 
did. 

For  an  instant  the  extinguished  eyes  seemed  to  well 
with  light.  "That  picture  of  his,  'As  the  Leaves  of  the 
Tree,'  carries  technique  to  a  point  that  makes  one 
dizzy.  Some  say  technique  doesn't  matter,  but  there's 
nothing  permanent  without  it."  He  sighed  heavily. 
"Of  course  the  undaunted  soul  of  man  has  to  shine 
through  it.  And  that's  just  what  Jim  Stanning  was — 
an  undaunted  soul.  Dead  at  thirty-nine.  We  shan't 
realize  ...  if  we  ever  realize  .  .  .  however.  .  .  ." 

Overcome  by  his  thoughts  for  a  moment,  he  could 
not  go  on.  Sally  sat  breathing  hard. 

307 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

"If  I  were  a  rich  man,  as  rich  as  Ford  or  Carnegie, 
I'd  buy  that  picture  of  old  Jim's  and  send  it  to  them  in 
Berlin.  Some  day  it  might  help  them  to  ask  them- 
selves just  what  it  was  that  brought  the  man  who 
painted  it,  a  man  who  simply  lived  for  beauty,  to  die 
like  a  dbg,  half  mad,  in  a  poisoned  muckyard  in  Flan- 
ders." 

Suddenly  he  stopped  and  the  light  seemed  to  die  in 
his  face.  Then  he  turned  round  on  the  piano  stool  and 
broke  delicately  into  the  opening  bars  of  the  haunted, 
wild  and  terrible  Fifth  Symphony.  For  the  moment 
he  had  forgotten  that  Sally  was  there. 

She  got  up  from  her  chair  and  came  to  him  as  a 
child  to  a  wounded  and  suffering  animal.  Putting  an 
arm  round  his  clean  but  frayed  collar  she  kissed  his 
forehead. 

"I  shall  come  and  see  you  again  ...  if  I  may." 

His  sightless  flesh  seemed  to  contract  as  he  lifted  his 
thin  hands  from  the  keyboard.  "Don't!"  he  gasped. 
"Better  not  .  .  .  better  not  .  .  .  for  both  of  us." 

She  knew  he  was  right  and  something  in  her  voice 
told  him  so.  ".  .  .  If  I  may,"  she  repeated  weakly. 

He  didn't  answer.  She  pressed  her  lips  again  upon 
his  forehead,  then  took  up  her  coat  and  went  hastily 
from  the  room. 

The  old  woman  was  in  the  act  of  turning  the  latch- 
key in  the  front  door.  She  had  got  her  coupons  and 
was  returning  in  triumph  with  a  full  basket. 

"Not  going,  Miss  Sally,  are  you?  I  should  like 
308 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

you  to  have  seen  his  decorations — D.S.O.  with  two 
Bars  and  such  a  wonderful  letter  from  the  General/' 

"I'm  afraid  I  simply  must  go,  Mrs.  Nixey.  Off  to 
France  to-morrow,  and  I've  got  to  pack." 

"Yes,  my  dear,  I  suppose  so.  Very  good  of  you 
to  come  and  see  him." 

"Don't  say  that." 

At  the  sight  of  Sally's  eyes  the  voice  of  the  old 
woman  changed  suddenly.  "He  thinks,  my  dear,  he'll 
get  better  ...  he  quite  thinks  he'll  get  better  .  .  .  but 
.  .  .  but,  Dr.  Minyard  ..."  Again  the  voice  of  the 
old  woman  changed.  "Ah,  there  he  is  playing  again. 
How  beautifully  he  does  play,  doesn't  he?  Hours 
.  .  .  and  hours  .  .  .  and  hours.  So  soft  and  gentle 
.  .  .  the  bit  he's  playing  now  reminds  him  of  the  wind 
in  Dibley  Chase.  Yes,  and  that  bit  too  ...  he  says 
it  makes  him  see  the  sun  dancing  along  the  Sharrow 
on  an  afternoon  in  July.  Beautiful  piano!  So  kind 
and  thoughtful  of  your  dear  father!  He  quite  thinks 
.  he'll  .  ." 


XLVII 

THE  Corporal's  leg  was  a  long  time  getting  well. 
First  it  came  on  a  bit,  then  it  went  back  a  bit; 
but  the  process  of  recovery  was  a  painful  and  a  tardy 
business.  Still  it  was  much  softened  by  the  judicious 
help  of  others.  By  the  interest  of  the  Mayor  of  the 
city,  whose  model  hospital  on  The  Rise  and  its  last 
word  in  equipment  meant  access  to  more  than  one 
influential  ear,  Corporal  Hollis  in  the  later  stages  of 
a  long  convalescence  had  the  privileges  of  an  out 
patient. 

These  privileges,  moreover,  were  enjoyed  in  ideal 
conditions.  Early  in  April,  Melia  was  installed  at 
Torrington  Cottage,  Dibley.  To  the  secret  gratifica- 
tion of  her  family,  the  business  in  Love  Lane  was 
given  up,  and  Melia's  checkered  life  entered  upon  a 
new  phase  amid  surroundings  wholly  different  from 
'any  it  had  known  before. 

At  first  the  change  seemed  almost  too  great  to  be 
enjoyed.  After  the  gloom,  the  semi-squalor,  the  hard 
toil  of  Love  Lane,  it  was  like  an  entrance  into  para- 
dise. And  when,  at  the  end  of  that  enchanted  month 
of  April,  the  Corporal  joined  her  in  the  new  abode, 
Melia's  cup  of  happiness  seemed  quite  perilously  full. 

310 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

That  was  a  summer  of  magic  days.  For  weeks 
on  end  they  lived  in  a  dream  that  had  come  true.  To 
Melia  the  well  appointed  house,  the  beautiful  surround- 
ings, the  bounty  of  her  father  were  sources  of  per- 
petual amazement;  to  the  Corporal  the  extensive  gar- 
den, so  gloriously  stocked  with  flowers,  fruit  and  veg- 
etables, was  a  thing  of  delight;  above  all,  the  tower 
at  the  end  of  it,  commanding  on  every  hand  his  lovely 
native  county,  was  a  sacred  thing,  a  temple  of  august 
memories. 

The  Corporal  sunning  himself  and  smoking  his  pipe 
by  the  south  wall,  where  the  peaches  grew,  could  never 
have  believed  it  to  be  possible.  Melia,  tending  the 
flowerbeds  and  the  grass,  at  the  end  of  a  not-too-stren- 
uous summer's  day,  felt  somehow  that  this  was  fairy- 
land. Yes,  their  dreams  of  the  long  ago  had  more 
than  come  true.  And,  crowning  consummation,  in  the 
eyes  of  each  other,  they  were  honored  husband  and 
cherished  wife. 

The  Corporal  was  a  long  time  getting  well,  but  in 
that  he  was  obeying  instructions.  Those  most  com- 
petent to  speak  of  his  case  had  told  him  not  to  be 
in  a  hurry;  otherwise  he  might  be  permanently  lame. 
And  he  was  entitled  to  take  his  time.  He  had  done 
his  bit.  Moreover,  as  his  father-in-law  assured  him, 
it  was  the  turn  of  younger  men  to  "carry  on."  He  had 
been  through  more  than  a  year  and  a  half  in  the 
trenches  amid  some  of  the  cruelest  fighting  of  the 
war;  he  was  entitled  to  wear  two  stripes  of  gold  braid 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

on  his  sleeve.  If  any  man  could  nurse  a  painful  in- 
jury with  a  good  conscience  that  man  was  Corporal 
Hollis. 

In  spite  of  searing  memories,  in  spite  of  the  whole 
nation's  anxieties,  in  a  measure  made  less,  yet  not 
wholly  dispelled  by  the  entrance  into  the  war  of  a 
great  Ally,  the  Corporal  was  allowed  a  taste  of  those 
half- forbidden  fruits,  Poetry  and  Romance.  At  such 
a  time,  perhaps,  with  the  issue  still  undecided  and  the 
trials  of  the  people  growing  more  severe  every  week, 
the  gilt  on  life's  gingerbread  should  have  been  denied 
him  altogether.  And  yet  by  dogged  pluck  he  had 
earned  that  guerdon,  and  Melia  by  her  simple  faith 
was  worthy  to  share  it  with  him. 

The  famous  erection  at  the  end  of  the  garden,  a 
weathercock  at  its  apex,  a  course  of  bricks  and  twelve 
stone  steps  at  its  base,  was  haunted  continually  by 
an  unseen  presence.  And  it  was  a  presence  with  whom 
the  Corporal  long  communed.  Many  an  odd  hour  be- 
tween sunrise  and  sunset,  a  humble  disciple  of  the 
Highest,  pencil  or  brush  in  hand,  strove  with  hardly 
more  than  infantile  art  to  surprise  some  of  the  se- 
crets of  woodland,  stream  and  hill. 

No  wonder  that  at  that  particular  corner,  where 
mile  upon  lovely  mile  of  England  rolled  back  to  the 
frontiers  of  three  counties,  two  of  her  greatest  paint- 
ers had  gloried  in  Beauty  and  drunk  deep.  The  lights 
tossed  from  the  sky  to  the  silver-breasted  river  gleam- 
ing a  thousand  feet  below  and  then  cast  back  again 

312 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

were  so  many  heralds  and  sconce-bearers  for  those 
who  had  eyes  to  see. 

When  the  Corporal  was  not  being  wheeled  round 
his  enchanted  garden,  or  was  not  smoking  his  pipe  in 
the  sun,  he  was  sitting  with  his  back  to  the  weather, 
drawing  and  painting  and  dwelling  in  spirit  with  the 
genius  of  place  and,  through  it,  with  one  immortal 
friend. 

Autumn  came  and  the  Corporal  still  needed  a 
crutch.  But  he  could  get  about  the  garden  now  and 
even  pluck  the  weeds,  although  not  yet  able  to  dig. 
And  he  was  so  happy  that  he  didn't  chafe  against 
the  slow  recovery.  He  needed  rest  and  he  had  earned 
it;  of  that  there  could  be  no  question. 

Meanwhile  the  months  passed  and  events  moved 
quickly.  The  war,  to  which  no  glimpse  of  an  end 
was  yet  in  sight,  continued  to  press  ever  more  se- 
verely upon  all  sections  of  the  population.  There 
was  a  shortage  of  everything  now  except  the  spirit 
of  grim  determination.  It  was  a  people's  war,  as  no 
war  had  ever  been,  and  the  people,  come  what  might, 
were  set  on  winning  it. 

In  November  the  signal  compliment  was  paid  Jo- 
siah  of  electing  him  to  office  a  third  consecutive  year. 
If  anything,  his  second  term  had  enhanced  his  pres- 
tige; his  authority  in  the  city  of  Blackhampton  was 
greater  than  ever.  More  and  more  did  he  seem  to 
be  the  man  such  abnormal  times  required.  And  the 
Mayoress,  although  under  the  constant  threat  of  dis- 

313 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

solution  throughout  a  strenuous  year,  was  still  in  the 
land  of  the  living.  Looking  back  on  what  she  had 
suffered,  the  fact  appeared  miraculous;  and  yet  as  the 
end  of  the  second  term  drew  near,  had  she  been  quite 
honest  with  herself,  she  might  have  been  tempted  to 
own  that  she  was  none  the  worse  for  her  experience. 
In  some  ways,  although  the  admission  would  have 
called  for  wild  horses,  she  might  almost  be  said  to  be 
the  better  for  it.  Gertrude  Preston,  at  any  rate,  open- 
ly said  so. 

Such  being  the  case,  Josiah  did  not  hesitate  to  ac- 
cept office  for  a  third  term.  By  now  he  realized  that 
he  was  the  best  man  in  the  city,  at  all  events  for  that 
particular  job.  Everybody  said  so,  from  the  Town 
Clerk  down ;  and  it  was  no  mere  figure  of  speech.  In- 
deed, Josiah  felt  that  Blackhampton  could  hardly 
"carry  on"  without  him. 

He  was  an  autocrat,  it  was  true,  his  temper  was 
despotic,  but  that  was  the  kind  of  man  the  times  called 
for.  It  was  no  use  having  a  divided  mind,  it  was 
no  use  having  a  mealy-mouth.  With  the  political  in- 
stinct of  a  hard-headed  race  he  had  contrived  to  find 
a  formula  of  government.  He  could  talk  to  Labor 
in  the  language  it  understood;  and  the  employers  of 
Labor  allowed  him  to  talk  to  them,  perhaps  mainly 
for  the  reason  that  he  was  not  himself  an  employer, 
but  a  disinterested  and,  if  anything,  slightly  too  hon- 
est, private  citizen. 

Therefore,  no  great  surprise  was  caused  at  the  be- 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

ginning  of  the  New  Year  when  it  was  announced  that 
the  dignity  of  a  Knight  of  the  British  Empire  had 
been  conferred  upon  the  Mayor  of  Blackhampton. 
Sir  Josiah  Munt,  K.B.E.,  took  it  as  "all  in  the  day's 
work."  A  democrat  pur  sang,  yet  he  didn't  doubt 
"that  he'd  make  as  good  a  knight  as  some  of  'em." 
But  the  hapless  Maria  showed  less  stoicism.  Accord- 
ing to  credible  witnesses,  when  the  news  came  to  her 
that  Lady  Munt  was  her  future  style  and  degree, 
she  fainted  right  off,  and  when  at  last  the  assiduous 
Alice  had  brought  her  to,  she  put  herself  to  bed  for 
three  days. 

Be  that  as  it  may,  old  issues  were  revived  in  that  tor- 
mented breast.  Horace,  Doctor  Cockburn,  had  im- 
mensely strengthened  his  position  in  the  triumphant 
course  of  the  preceding  year,  but  the  new  situation 
cried  aloud  for  Doctor  Tremlett.  However,  the 
Mayor  telephoned  to  his  sister-in-law  "to  come  at 
once  and  set  her  ladyship  to  rights,"  the  call  was 
promptly  obeyed  by  the  dauntless  Gerty,  and  the 
crisis  passed. 


XLVIII 

THE  early  months  of  the  year  1918  saw  the  en- 
tire Allied  Cause  in  the  gravest  jeopardy.  Even 
a  superficial  study  of  facts  only  partially  revealed 
has  made  it  clear  that  disaster  was  invited  by  an  al- 
most criminal  taking  of  chances.  The  time  is  not 
yet  for  the  whole  truth  to  be  known.  Meanwhile  the 
muse  of  history  continues  to  weave  her  Daedalian 
spells.  .  .  . 

On  the  last  Sunday  morning  of  that  momentous 
and  terrible  March  the  Mayor  sent  his  car  to  Tor- 
rington  Cottage.  Melia  and  her  husband  had  been 
invited  to  spend  the  day  at  Strathfieldsaye.  For  sev- 
eral months  the  Corporal  had  been  working  at  a  new 
aerodrome  along  the  valley,  which  happened  to  be 
within  easy  reach  of  his  tricycle.  His  last  Medical 
Board  had  proved  that  his  leg  was  still  weak  and  in 
its  opinion  not  unlikely  to  remain  so.  But  he  had 
not  been  invalided  out  of  the  Army,  as  there  was  still 
a  chance  that  presently  he  might  be  able  to  pass  the 
doctor;  at  the  same  time,  having  regard  to  his  age 
and  the  nature  of  his  injury,  he  had  a  reasonable  hope 
of  getting  his  discharge  whenever  he  cared  to  apply 
for  it 

316 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

More  than  once  had  Melia  urged  him  to  do  so.  Her 
arguments  were  strong.  He  was  not  a  young  man 
and  he  had  already  "done  his  bit";  they  were  very 
happy  together  in  their  charming  house;  and  her 
father  had  said  that  it  would  continue  to  be  theirs  as 
long  as  they  cared  to  live  in  it.  The  Corporal,  how- 
ever, could  not  quite  bring  himself  to  quit  the  Army, 
even  had  such  a  course  been  possible.  Something  still 
held  him.  He  didn't  know  exactly  what  it  was,  but 
even  now  that  the  chance  had  been  given  him  he  was 
loathe  "to  cut  the  painter."  Pride  seemed  to  lie  at 
the  root  of  his  reluctance.  Melia  felt  it  must  be  that. 
But  the  Corporal  knew  that  alchemies  more  potent 
were  at  work. 

On  this  fateful  Sunday  in  March,  after  the  midday 
meal,  as  he  sat  smoking  one  of  his  father-in-law's  ci- 
gars in  the  little  room  across  the  hall  he  realized  that 
pressure  was  being  brought  to  bear  upon  him  to  make 
a  decision.  Moreover,  in  Josiah's  arguments,  he 
heard  the  voice  of  his  wife.  Melia  had  lately  aston- 
ished the  world  with  the  news  that  she  was  expect- 
ing a  baby.  The  fact  was  very  hard  to  credit  that 
she  was  now  preparing  clothes  for  her  first-born. 
A  nine  days'  wonder  had  ensued.  Such  a  thing  was 
almost  beyond  precedent,  yet,  after  all,  Dame  Nature 
had  been  known  to  indulge  in  these  caprices!  The 
startled,  fluttered,  rather  piqued  Mrs.  Doctor,  after 
consultation  with  her  lord,  was  able  to  furnish  in- 
stances. Still,  it  was  remarkable!  And  it  lent  much 

317 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

cogency  to  MehVs  desire  that  the  Corporal  should  now 
apply  for  his  discharge  from  the  Army. 

This  afternoon  it  was  clear  that  Josiah  was  plead- 
ing Melia's  case.  There  was  an  excellent  billet  wait- 
ing for  the  Corporal  at  Jackson  and  Holcroft's  if  he 
cared  to  take  it.  They  offered  short  hours  and  good 
pay.  Why  not?  He  was  still  going  a  trifle  lame; 
the  Medical  Board  was  not  likely  to  raise  any  objec- 
tion; and  it  would  be  a  relief  to  Melia  who  ought  to 
be  considered  now. 

The  Corporal,  however,  shifted  uneasily  in  his  chair. 
All  through  luncheon  he  had  seemed  terribly  gloomy; 
and,  if  anything,  his  father-in-law's  arguments  had 
deepened  the  clouds.  One  reason  was,  perhaps,  that 
Josiah  himself  was  terribly  gloomy.  The  whole  coun- 
try was  terribly  gloomy.  It  had  suddenly  swung  back 
to  the  phase  of  August,  1914. 

The  simple  truth  was  that  disaster  was  in  the  air. 
A  crushing  blow  had  fallen,  a  blow  doubly  cruel  be- 
cause so  long  foreseen  and,  therefore,  to  be  parried 
if  not  actually  prevented. 

"Over  a  wide  front  the  British  Army  is  beaten!" 
Such  was  the  enemy  message  to  the  Sunday  papers. 
"Ninety  thousand  prisoners  and  an  enormous  booty 
have  been  taken!"  And  the  greatest  disaster  in  the 
long  history  of  British  arms  was  confirmed  by  the 
artless  official  meiosis.  "Our  Fourth  and  Fifth  Arm- 
ies have  retired  to  a  previously  prepared  position."  It 
omitted  to  state  that  the  position  was  some  thirty 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

miles  nearer  Paris,  but  that  fact  received  confirma- 
tion from  the  French  communique  in  the  next  column, 
"The  capital  is  being  bombarded  by  long-range  guns." 

No  day  could  have  been  less  propitious  for  Melia. 
And  after  the  Mayor  had  sat  smoking  a  few  minutes 
with  his  gloomy  son-in-law  he  appeared  to  realize  the 
state  of  the  case.  As  the  Corporal  drew  at  his  cigar 
in  a  silence  that  was  almost  morose,  Josiah's  own 
thoughts  and  feelings  began  to  take  color  from  their 
surroundings.  He  lapsed  into  silence  also.  It  seemed 
to  come  home  to  him  all  at  once  and  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  that  he  had  been  guilty  of  impertinence. 
This  little  man  with  his  bloodshot  eyes  and  few  strug- 
gling wisps  of  gray  hair,  with  his  twitching  hands  and 
his  air  of  smoldering  rage,  had  been  through  it.  Even 
to  have  been  Mayor  of  Blackhampton  three  years 
running  was  very  little  by  comparison.  Josiah  was 
man  enough  to  feel  keenly  annoyed  for  having  allowed 
his  tongue  so  free  a  rein. 

There  came  at  last  a  deep  growl  from  the  Corporal. 
It  was  the  note  of  an  old  dog,  whose  life  of  many 
battles  has  not  improved  his  temper.  "If  the  bloody 
politicians  will  interfere!" 

The  words  found  an  echo  in  the  heart  of  the  Mayor. 
Sinister  tales  were  rife  on  every  hand.  And  of  his 
own  knowledge  he  was  aware  that  there  were  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  trained  men  in  the  country  at 
that  moment  whose  presence  was  most  imperatively 

319 


called  for  on  the  perilously  weakened  and  extended 
British  line  to  France. 

"Goin'  to  call  up  the  grandads,  I  see,"  said  the  Cor- 
poral, grimly. 

"Aye!"  The  Mayor  laughed  bitterly.  "Fat  lot  o' 
use  they'll  be  when  they've  got  'em.  Muddle,  muddle, 
muddle."  Like  the  Corporal,  he  was  in  a  very  black 
humor.  "It's  a  mercy  the  Yankees  are  with  us  now 
— if  they  are  not  in  too  late." 

"Fancy  muckin'  it,"  said  the  Corporal,  "with  the 
game  in  our  hands.  A  year  ago  we'd  got  'em  beat." 

"Press  government,"  said  Josiah  savagely. 

The  Corporal  proceeded  to  chew  a  good  cigar. 
"Dad,"  he  said  at  last,  and  it  was  the  first  time  in  his 
life  he  had  addressed  his  former  employer  so  famil- 
iarly, "I'm  thinking  I'll  have  to  go  before  the  Medical 
Board  again." 

Josiah  combed  an  incipient  goatee  with  a  dubious 
forefinger.  "But,  my  boy,  from  what  you  told  me, 
you  thought  you  could  get  your  discharge  any  time 
you  liked  to  ask  for  it." 

"That  was  back  in  January." 

"You're  no  fitter  now  than  you  were  then,  are  you?" 

The  Corporal  slowly  stretched  his  right  leg  to  its 
full  length,  and  then,  gathering  it  under  him  leant 
his  whole  weight  upon  it.  "I'm  much  firmer  on  my 
pins  than  I  was  then."  His  rough  voice  suddenly 
regained  its  usual  gentleness.  "Work  seems  to  suit 

320 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

me."     He    laughed    rather    wryly.     "I    expect    the 
Board'll  pass  me  now — if  I  ask  'em  to." 

It  was  the  turn  of  Josiah  to  maltreat  his  cigar.  "Not 
thinking  of  going  back  into  the  Line,  are  you?" 

"If  they'll  take  me."  The  Corporal  spoke  slowly 
and  softly.  "And  I  daresay  they  will — if  I  ask  'em 
polite." 

Josiah's  keen  face  was  full  of  queer  emotion.  "Not 
for  me  to  say  anything."  But  he  had  been  charged 
with  a  mission  by  the  urgent  Melia.  No  matter  what 
his  private  feelings  let  him  not  betray  it!  "Seems 
to  me,  my  boy,  although  it's  not  for  me  to  say  any- 
thing, that  no  one'll  blame  you,  after  what  you've 
been  through,  if  you  stand  aside  and  make  room  for 
others." 

The  Corporal  extended  both  legs  towards  the  fire. 
He  gazed  into  it  solemnly  without  speaking. 

"Well,  think  it  over,  Bill."  The  voice  of  the 
tempter.  "No  one  can  blame  you,  if  you  stick  to 
your  present  billet,  which  suits  you  so  well — or  even 
if  you  go  into  munitions  at  a  good  salary.  You'll 
have  earned  anything  they  give  you.  And  in  a  man- 
ner o'  speaking  you'll  still  be  doing  your  bit.  But 
as  I  say  .  .  .  it's  not  for  me.  .  .  ." 

Strangling  a  groan,  the  Corporal  rose  suddenly 
from  his  chair,  "I  must  think  it  over."  He  threw  the 
stump  of  his  cigar  into  the  fire.  "You  see,  I  don't  like 
leaving  the  Chaps."  The  voice  of  the  Corporal  sank 
almost  to  a  whisper. 

321 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

The  Mayor  gave  his  guest  a  second  cigar  and  chose 
another  for  himself.  But  he  didn't  say  anything. 

"You  see — as  you  might  say — I've  had  Experi- 
ence." 

The  Mayor  looked  a  little  queerly  at  the  Corporal. 
Then  he  took  a  penknife  out  of  the  pocket  of  a  rather 
ornate  knitted  waistcoat  and  dexterously  removed 
the  tip  from  his  cigar. 

"I've  had  Experience."  The  Corporal  sighed  and 
sat  down  heavily  in  his  cushioned  chair.  He  fixed 
his  eyes  again  on  the  fire. 

The  Mayor  applied  a  lighted  spill  to  his  cigar  and 
then  in  silence  offered  it  to  the  Corporal.  But  the 
Corporal's  cigar  was  not  yet  ready  for  smoking. 

"If  I  do  go" — the  voice  of  the  Corporal  was  soft 
and  thick  and  rather  husky — "you'll  .  .  .  you'll.  .  .  ." 

His  father-in-law  nodded.  "Don't  you  worry  about 
that.  I'll  see  her  all  right." 

Josiah  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  blew  his  nose 
violently. 


THAT  evening,  about  nine  o'clock,  when  Melia 
and  the  Corporal  returned  to  Torrington  Cot- 
tage, they  found  a  cosy  fire  awaiting  them  in  the 
charming  sitting  room,  an  act  of  grace  on  the  part 
of  Fanny,  a  handmaiden  from  the  village,  for  the 
evenings  were  chilly  They  sat  a  few  minutes  to- 
gether and  then  Melia  retired  for  the  night  after  hav- 
ing drawn  a  promise  from  the  Corporal  that  he  would 
not  be  long  in  following  her  example. 

Alas,  the  Corporal  did  not  feel  in  the  least  like  going 
to  bed.  There  was  a  decision  to  be  made.  In  fact 
he  had  half  made  it  already.  But  the  good  wife  up- 
stairs and  the  very  chair  in  which  he  sat  had  cast 
their  spells  upon  him.  Gazing  into  the  heart  of  the 
fire  he  realized  that  he  was  deliciously  and  solidly  com- 
fortable. All  his  days  he  had  been  a  catlike  lover  of 
the  comfortable.  In  the  first  instance  it  had  been 
that  as  much  as  anything  that  had  so  nearly  undone 
him.  Conflicting  voices  were  urging  him,  as  some- 
how they  always  did,  at  critical  moments  in  his  life. 

This  beautiful  room  with  its  old  furniture,  its 
china,  its  bric-a-brac,  its  soft  carpet,  its  one  rare  land- 
scape upon  the  wall  was  an  enchanted  palace.  Even 

323 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

now,  after  all  these  months  of  occupation,  it  seemed 
like  sacrilege  to  be  sitting  in  it.  But  it  was  a  symp- 
tom of  a  changed  condition.  This  lovely  place  with 
its  poetry  and  its  elegance  was  a  dream  come  true. 
And  the  honor  and  the  affection  with  which  a  world 
formerly  so  hard  and  so  supercilious  surrounded  him 
now  made  life  so  much  sweeter  than  ever  before. 

Sitting  there  in  front  of  a  delicious  fire  he  felt 
that  the  peace  and  the  beauty  all  about  him  had  en- 
tered his  soul.  He  had  a  right  to  these  languors;  he 
had  purchased  them  with  many  unspeakable  months 
of  torture  and  pain.  No  one  would  blame  him,  no 
one  could  blame  him  if  he  left  the  dance  to  younger 
men.  Suddenly  he  heard  a  little  wind  steal  along  the 
valley  and  he  shivered  at  the  image  that  was  born 
upon  its  whisper.  Just  beyond  these  cosy,  lamplit 
walls  was  Night,  Chaos,  Panic.  Outside  the  tiny 
harbor  he  had  won  at  such  a  price  was  all  hell  let 
loose. 

He  heard  the  awful  Crumps,  he  could  taste  the  icy 
mud  they  flung  over  him,  he  was  plunged  again  in 
endless,  hideous  hours,  he  could  see  and  feel  the 
muck,  the  senseless  muck,  the  boredom,  the  excruci- 
ating misery.  The  wind  in  the  valley  grew  a  little 
louder  and  he  shuddered  in  the  depths  of  his  spirit. 

The  crocuses  were  out  in  the  fields  by  the  river. 
Next  week  would  be  April,  the  time  of  cloud,  of  glow- 
ing brake  and  flowering  thorn,  of  daffodils  and  mi- 
raculous lights  along  the  Sharrow.  The  little  picture 

324 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

over  the  chimneypiece,  which  he  had  copied  three 
times  in  his  long  convalescence,  showed  what  April 
meant  along  the  Sharrow.  Friendship  had  taught  him 
something,  had  given  him  eyes.  He  had  been  initiated 
into  the  higher  mysteries.  Beauty  for  the  sake  of 
Beauty — the  world  religion  of  the  future — had  been 
revealed  to  him.  The  sense  of  it  seemed  to  fill  him 
with  passion  as  he  gazed  into  the  fire. 

"Auntie!"  Surely  there  was  a  voice  in  the  room. 
Or  was  it  the  little  wind  outside  softly  trying  the 
shutters?  "Auntie!"  It  was  there  again.  He  got 
up  unsteadily,  but  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy,  half  entrance- 
ment,  half  pain,  and  crossed  to  the  French  window. 
Very  gently  he  slipped  back  the  bolts  and  flung  open 
the  door.  The  darkness  hit  him,  but  there  was  noth- 
ing there.  He  knew  there  was  nothing  there,  yet  in 
his  old  carpet  slippers  he  stepped  out  gingerly  on  to 
the  wet  lawn.  The  air  was  moist  and  mild  and 
friendly,  and  as  his  eyes  grew  used  to  the  mirk  the 
rosebushes  and  the  fruit  trees  took  shape  on  either 
hand. 

The  shafts  of  light  from  the  room  he  had  left  guid- 
ed him  across  the  grass  as  far  as  the  path  which  led 
to  the  tower  at  the  end  of  the  garden.  As  soon  as 
his  feet  were  on  the  gravel  he  thought  he  heard  the 
voice  again.  Of  course  it  couldn't  be  so.  It  was  only 
the  wind  along  the  valley.  And  yet  ...  no  ...  if 
the  wind  wasn't  calling  .  .  . 

The  gaunt  line  of  the  many-windowed  tower  loomed 
325 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

ahead.  Less  by  calculation  than  by  instinct  he  sud- 
denly found  the  lowest  of  the  twelve  stone  steps  which 
led  to  its  high  door — in  that  darkness  he  couldn't 
see  it,  and  if  he  had  seen  it  there  was  not  the  slightest 
reason  for  ascending,  but  just  now  he  was  possessed. 
Step  after  step  shaped  itself  with  a  kind  of  intelli- 
gence to  his  old  waterlogged  slippers,  the  damp  knob 
of  the  door  came  into  his  hand. 

The  door  was  locked.  Silly  fool  he  was!  Must 
be  cracked  anyway !  But  the  starched  cuff  of  his  best 
Sunday  shirt  had  got  entangled  with  something.  The 
key,  of  course.  It  had  been  left  in  the  lock.  Care- 
less to  leave  it  like  that. 

Of  a  sudden  the  door  came  open.  The  ghostly 
abyss  within  smelt  very  damp  and  cheerless.  Ought 
to  have  had  an  occasional  fire  there  during  the  win- 
ter months.  He  felt  his  way  cautiously  in  and  his  eyes 
adjusted  themselves  to  the  grimmer  texture  of  the 
darkness.  The  chill  made  his  teeth  chatter.  He  felt 
in  his  pockets  for  a  match,  but  he  hadn't  got  one; 
he  moved  gingerly  forward,  past  a  wooden  table  and 
a  wicker  chair;  the  spectral  outline  of  an  unshuttered 
window  confronted  him. 

Outside  was  nothing  but  the  wind  in  the  valley. 
He  couldn't  see  a  yard  beyond  the  glass.  The  chill 
of  the  musty  place  was  settling  into  his  bones.  What 
a  fool  not  to  be  in  his  comfortable  bed!  But  ...  a 
voice  was  still  whispering.  There  was  something 
.  .  .  somewhere.  .  .  . 

326 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

The  wind  was  just  like  the  little  wind  along  that 
damned  Canal.  No  wonder  his  teeth  chattered.  And 
then  right  out  in  the  void  he  saw  a  star.  It  was  so 
faint,  so  far  beyond  the  valley  and  the  wind's  voice 
that  he  was  not  sure  it  was  a  star.  But  as  he  stood 
looking  at  it  the  voice  seemed  to  come  quite  close. 

"Auntie  .  .  .  Auntie.  .  .  ." 

"That  you,  Jim  .  .  .  here  I  am,  boy.  .  .  ." 

.  .  .  Only  a  fool  would  stand  with  chattering  teeth, 
in  carpet  slippers,  at  a  goodish  bit  past  midnight, 
talking  to  something  that  wasn't  there.  .  .  . 

Somewhere  in  the  darkness  there  was  a  presence. 
Perhaps  it  was  outside  the  window.  He  felt  his  way 
back  to  the  open  door,  as  far  as  the  veiled  peril  of  the 
twelve  stone  steps.  It  was  so  dark  that  he  couldn't 
even  see  the  topmost;  there  was  not  even  a  railing  for 
such  an  emergency;  a  single  false  step  and  he  would 
break  his  neck. 

Queerly  excited  he  stood  poised  on  the  threshold, 
feeling  into  space  with  one  foot.  The  wind  was  in 
the  garden  below  him.  And  then  oddly,  at  a  fresh 
angle,  over  by  his  left  hand,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  star.  He  swayed  forward  into  the  void  but  the 
lamp  of  faith  had  been  lit  in  his  eyes.  His  taut  nerves 
awoke  to  the  fact  that  he  was  really  descending  the 
unseen  steps  one  by  one  and  that  he  was  counting 
them.  If  he  didn't  take  extraordinary  care  he  was 
very  likely  to  kill  himself,  but  the  care  he  was  taking 
seemed  by  no  means  extraordinary. 

327 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

His  old  carpet  slippers  were  shuffling  along  the 
gravel  at  last.  He  could  make  out  a  line  of  currant 
bushes  by  which  ran  the  path  to  the  house.  As  he 
moved  forward  the  wind  died  away  in  the  valley  and 
he  lost  sight  of  the  star.  But  he  knew  his  way  now. 
Pent  up  forces  flowed  from  him  through  the  wall  of 
li-ving  darkness.  "I'm  coming,  Jim !"  he  muttered. 
The  wind  seemed  to  answer  him.  And  then  he  came 
to  the  end  of  the  row  of  bushes  and  there  beyond  a 
patch  of  wet  grass  was  the  door  of  the  cosy  room 
still  open  with  a  subdued  glow  of  lamp  and  fire  shin- 
ing beyond. 

When  he  came  in  he  took  off  his  soaked  slippers  that 
they  might  not  soil  the  beautiful  carpet  of  which  Me- 
lia  was  so  proud.  As  he  barred  the  door  and  drew 
the  curtains  across  the  window,  the  pretty  old-fash- 
ioned clock  on  the  chimneypiece  chided  him  by  melo- 
diously striking  one  o'clock.  He  must  be  a  fool — he 
had  to  be  up  at  seven;  but  the  enchanted  room  that 
was  like  a  dream  embodied  cast  one  last  spell  upon 
him. 

He  had  no  need  .  .  .  the  Chaps  wouldn't  expect  it 
...  he  was  forty-five.  .  .  . 

The  voice  was  in  the  valley.  It  was  a  quarter  past 
one.  He  raked  out  the  last  faint  embers  of  the  fire, 
then  he  put  out  the  lamp  and  carried  his  wet  slippers 
into  the  hall.  After  his  recent  adventure  it  was  but 
a  simple  matter  to  find  his  way  up  the  richly  car- 

328 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

peted  stairs  without  a  light  and  creep  into  the  room 
where  his  wife  slept 

She  was  sleeping  now.  So  cunningly  he  crept  into 
the  room  that  she  did  not  stir.  He  listened  to  the 
gentle  rise  and  fall  of  her  soft  breath.  Good  woman ! 
brave  woman!  He  tiptoed  past  the  bed  to  where  the 
window  was  and  managed  to  draw  up  the  clever  new- 
fangled blinds  without  making  a  sound.  Yes,  there 
was  the  star.  That  was  all  he  wanted  to  see.  Faint 
it  was,  so  faint  that  faith  was  needed  to  believe  that 
it,  was  a  star.  But  there  was  nothing  else  it  could  be. 

The  little  sobbing  voice,  now  no  more  than  a  whis- 
per, that,  too,  was  out  there.  Jim's  voice  .  .  .  cracked 
he  must  be  ...  such  sloppy  notions  .  .  .  the  wind 
along  that  damned  canal.  ,  .  . 

Suddenly  he  turned  from  the  star.  At  the  beck  of 
a  queer  impulse  he  knelt  by  the  bed,  burying  his  eyes 
in  the  soft  counterpane.  He  prayed  for  the  Chaps. 
He  prayed  for  Melia.  He  prayed  for  the  life  that  lay 
with  her,  the  life  coming  to  them  so  miraculously  they 
knew  not  whence,  after  all  those  years. 

Could  it  be  that  Jim  was  coming  back  to  complete 
his  great  beginnings?  Coming  back  to  witch  the 
world  with  beauty  ?  Just  a  fancy.  But  everything  was 
just  a  fancy.  Jim  had  said  so  once,  looking  at  the 
sunset  on  the  bank  of  that  canal. 

And  he  was  one  who  . 


THE  months  went  by.  In  the  meantime,  upon  the 
fields  of  France,  was  being  decided  the  fate  of 
the  world  for  generations  to  come.  Day  followed  day 
whose  story  will  echo  down  the  ages,  but  in  the  cot- 
tage with  the  green  shutters  at  the  head  of  the  valley 
there  was  little  to  indicate  that  it  was  a  time  of  des- 
tiny. 

The  Corporal  was  allowed  to  return  to  his  old  regi- 
ment. Experience  had  made  him  doubly  valuable  and 
its  ranks  had  been  grievously  thinned.  After  three 
months  at  the  depot  he  was  sent  to  France. 

When  at  the  end  of  July  he  came  home  on  draft 
leave  to  bid  Melia  good-by,  her  time  was  drawing  near. 
And  in  spite  of  the  burdens  life  had  laid  upon  them, 
the  feeling  now  uppermost  was  a  subtle  sense  of  tri- 
umph. In  the  final  bitterness  of  conflict  the  dark  Fates 
had  given  them  courage  to  bear  their  heads  high. 

A  strange  reward  was  coming  to  them,  bringing 
with  it  new  obligations,  new  responsibilities.  But  they 
were  not  afraid.  Somewhere,  a  Friend  was  helping 
them.  It  must  be  so,  or  else  the  dire  perils  to  which 
they  had  been  exposed  would  not  have  allowed  their 
happiness  to  bear  so  late  a  flower.  Besides,  they  had 

330 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

been  given  a  specific  token  that  in  the  sum  of  things 
they  mattered. 

As  the  Corporal  held  his  wife  in  a  last  embrace  it 
came  to  him  all  at  once  that  he  was  never  to  see  the 
young  life  that  was  to  bear  his  name.  "If  we  can  put 
the  job  through  to  a  finish,"  he  whispered  huskily,  "I'd 
like  it  to  be  a  boy.  If  we  can't,  a  girl'd  be  better." 

She  asked  why  a  girl  would  be  better.  As  usual 
she  was  not  very  quick  in  the  uptake. 

"The  world '11  not  be  a  place  for  boys — unless  we 
can  do  the  job  clean." 

"But  you  will  do  it,  Bill."  The  almost  cowlike  eyes 
expressed  a  divine  instinct.  "God  won't  let  the  Ger- 
mans win." 

Somehow  the  words  shamed  him,  yet  not  for  the 
reason  that  turned  her  own  heart  to  fire.  It  was  trea- 
son to  the  Chaps  to  talk  of  girls. 

"O*  course  we'll  make  a  clean  job  on  it."  He  pressed 
a  final  caress  upon  her.  "You  can  set  there,  my  dear, 
in  that  nice  chair  all  covered  with  wild  flowers,  and 
the  door  open  just  as  it  is,  so  that  you  can  get  a 
glimpse  o'  that  old  river  with  the  sun  on  it  and  when 
your  eyes  get  tired-like,  my  dear,  you  can  fix  'em  on 
that  little  picture  over  the  chimneypiece  opposite.  See 
what  I  mean,  like  ?  There's  the  sun  in  that,  too.  John 
Torrington  painted  it.  Look  at  it  sometimes.  We 
are  going  to  win — it  isn't  right  to  think  otherwise. 
That  means  a  boy.  And  if  a  boy  it  is,  I'd  like  him 
to  be  called  Jim." 


LI 


CIVILIZATION  was  ringing  with  great  news  at 
the  very  hour  that  a  son  was  born  to  the  Cor- 
poral. But  at  that  time  he  was  a  Corporal  no  longer. 
A  letter  had  already  reached  Melia  to  say  that  "he  was 
promoted  Color  Sergeant."  The  fighting  was  awful, 
but  the  Chaps  had  got  their  tails  up,  and  the  time  was 
coming  "when  Fritz  would  be  bound  to  throw  in  his 
hand." 

It  was  very  well,  therefore,  that  the  half  comic, 
rather  pathetic,  somewhat  crumpled  but  perfectly 
healthly  creature  snuggling  up  against  its  mother  in 
a  lovely  chintz-clad  bedroom  looking  southwest, 
proved  to  be  a  small  but  perfectly  formed  specimen  of 
the  human  male.  The  delighted  grandmother  herself 
took  the  incredible  news  to  Strathfieldsaye. 

Josiah,  who  for  several  days  past  had  been  hard 
set  to  conceal  a  growing  excitement,  rubbed  his  hands 
with  glee.  "One  in  the  eye  for  Park  Crescent — what  ? 
Fancy  .  .  .  Melia!" 

Lady  Munt  agreed  that  wonders  are  never  likely  to 
cease  in  this  world. 

"Mother,"  she  never  remembered  to  have  seen  Jo- 
siah so  excited,  "this  means  a  bottle  o'  champagne." 
He  pressed  the  bell  and  gave  comprehensive  orders 

332 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

to  Alice.  "Seems  to  me  that  Victory's  in  the  air." 
Secretly  he  had  always  had  a  grudge  against  Fate, 
that,  with  all  his  worldly  success,  his  family  could  not 
muster  one  solitary  male  among  them.  "Funny 
thing,  y'  know,  how  you  can  be  deceived  in  people. 
I  always  said  that  chap  Hollis  was  a  good-for-noth- 
ing. Well,  I  was  wrong." 

Her  ladyship  sniffed  a  little  and  wiped  tearful  eyes. 
She  was  in  perversely  low  spirits,  but  good  soup,  in 
spite  of  the  food  crisis  and  good  wine,  which  she  was 
simply  forced  to  drink,  did  something  to  restore  her. 

"Yes,  you  can  be  deceived  in  people."  The  cool 
trickle  down  Josiah's  throat  generated  a  desire  for  con- 
versation. "Take  the  Germans.  Everybody  thought 
they  were  a  white  race.  Well,  they  aren't.  Then  take 
the  Americans.  Everybody  said  they  were  too  proud 
to  fight.  And,  when  finally  they  came  in,  people  said 
they'd  not  be  much  use  anyway.  But  it  shows  how 
easy  it  is  to  be  wrong."  Again  the  Mayor  took  up  his 
glass.  "For  I  tell  you,  Mother,  those  Yankees  have 
made  a  difference.  Since  that  mix-up  back  in  March 
they've  done  wonders.  The  Yankees  have  turned  the 
scale." 

Maria  had  a  head  for  domestic  affairs  only;  she 
did  not  pretend  to  be  wise  in  international  matters. 
She  sighed  gently  and  thought  of  a  certain  chintz-clad 
room  up  at  Dibley. 

"Get  on  with  it!"  Her  lord  pointed  at  her  glass 
peremptorily.  "Pol  Roger  '04'!!  hurt  nobody."  Strong 

333 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

in  that  faith,  he  lifted  his  own  glass  and  bowed  and 
beamed  over  the  top  of  it.  "Grandma,  here's  now!" 

At  the  toast  Maria  hoisted  a  blush  which  brought 
Josiah  to  the  verge  of  catastrophe.  Tears,  her  one 
form  of  emotional  luxury,  came  into  her  honest  eyes. 

"In  a  year  or  two,  Grandma,  we'll  have  to  be  think- 
ing of  your  golden  wedding — touching  wood!"  He 
laid  a  ritualistic  finger  upon  the  mahogany.  "You 
little  thought,  did  you  now,  when  we  started  out  to- 
gether in  that  funny  little  box  up  Parker's  Entry  that 
one  day  you'd  be  My  Lady?  Funny  world — what? 
I  remember  going  to  fetch  the  Doctor  the  night  that 
gel  was  born.  Bitter  cold  it  was."  Suddenly  Josiah 
stopped  and  again  took  up  his  glass.  "Wind  had  an 
edge  like  a  knife  round  the  corner  by  Waterloo 
Square."  Then  came  an  odd  change  of  voice.  "Did  I 
understand  you  to  say  the  gel  would  like  me  to  be 
godfather?" 

Maria  understood  that  Melia  understood  that  Bill 
would  like  it. 

A  sigh  escaped  Josiah.  He  laid  down  his  knife  and 
fork.  "Well,  well,  I  never  made  such  a  mistake  in  my 
life  as  over  that  chap."  His  voice  grew  humbler  than 
Maria  had  ever  heard  it.  "Shows  how  you  can  be 
deceived.  Something  big  about  that  feller.  Never 
made  a  greater  mistake  in  my  life.  We'll  hope  he'll 
come  through.  Better  write  him  a  line,  Mother. 
Don't  suppose  it's  any  use  tryin'  to  send  a  wire." 


LII 


SOME  weeks  later,  on  a  cold  Sunday  morning  in 
November,  Sir  Josiah  and  Lady  Munt  drove  over 
to  Torrington  Cottage.  They  were  accompanied  by 
Sally,  on  short  leave  from  France,  and  by  Gertrude 
Preston.  Before  the  party  walked  across  the  village 
green  to  the  little  parish  church,  where  a  service  of 
National  Thanksgiving  was  to  be  held,  it  found  that  a 
matter  of  great  importance  claimed  attention. 

The  matter  was  Jim.  The  rector  of  the  parish 
had  arranged  to  christen  him  that  afternoon  at  three 
o'clock.  Near  a  good  log  fire  in  the  sunny  embrasure 
of  the  charming  little  drawing-room  his  grand  cradle 
had  been  set;  and  here  the  wonderful  infant  was  duly 
inspected  by  his  godparents. 

Jim  was  a  picture.  His  grandfather  said  he  was. 
There  was  no  other  word.  Yet  even  in  the  presence 
of  this  phenomenal  youth  there  was  but  a  chastened 
joy.  He  was  sleeping  for  one  thing,  calmly,  sweetly 
and  superbly;  and  his  pale,  fine-drawn,  yet  strangely 
proud-looking  mother  was  clad  in  the  livery  of  widow- 
hood. 

Said  Josiah  in  a  low  voice,  so  as  not  to  wake  the 
baby,  "What's  happened  to  the  picture  that  used  to 

335 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

be  there?"  He  pointed  to  the  wall  above  the  chim- 
neypiece. 

"It  fell  down,  Dad."    The  voice  of  Melia  was  calm. 

"When?" 

"One  night  last  week — the  night  before  the  news 
came." 

"You  don't  say !"  Josiah  was  not  superstitious,  still 
it  was  queer. 

"No  one  was  in  the  room  when  it  happened.  No 
one  heard  it  fall.  Didn't  break  the  frame  or  the  glass 
or  anything.  Just  the  snapping  of  the  cord." 

"War  cord,  I  expect."  Josiah's  voice  was  grim. 
"Need  a  cord  of  a  better  quality  to  hang  a  certain 
party.  Better  have  it  put  up  again.  Young  Nixey 
tells  me  that  picture  may  be  worth  a  sight  o'  money." 

Melia  promised  that  it  should  be  put  up  again. 
He  always  set  such  great  store  by  it. 

Of  a  sudden,  Sally,  who  had  been  wholly  absorbed 
in  the  contemplation  of  James,  said,  "Tell  me,  Father, 
when  did  you  last  see  young  Nixey?" 

"Thursday — Friday.  Happened  to  look  in  Friday 
morning  as  I  was  passing." 

"How  was  he?" 

"Wonderfully  cheerful  considerin'.  Tries  to  gam- 
mon his  old  mother,  but  I  guess  the  old  lady 
knows.  .  .  ." 

".  .  .  he'll  never  .  .  ." 

"No,  poor  fellow.  Wonderful  pluck.  Tells  me  he's 
336 


THE  UNDEFEATED 

plannin'  a  cathedral  ...  a  cathedral,  mark  you  .  .  . 
and  stone  blind." 

Sally  sighed  a  little  and  turned  again  to  look  at 
"Jim.  Aunt  Gerty  laid  a  white-gloved  hand  gently  on 
.the  Mayor's  sleeve.  "Ten  minutes  to  eleven,  Josiah. 
Won't  do  to  be  late — you  of  all  people.  Will  it 
Maria?" 


LIII 

MARIA  and  Aunt  Gerty,  carrying  respectability 
to  the  verge  of  fashion,  led  the  way  by  the  path 
across  the  green  to  the  village  church.  Josiah,  walk- 
ing with  his  daughters,  followed  ten  paces  behind. 
Wearing  the  tall  hat  of  public  life  he  looked  imposing, 
but  four  and  a  quarter  years  of  war  had  chastened 
him.  The  roll  and  the  swagger  were  not  what  they 
were ;  four  and  a  quarter  years  of  incessant  but  fruit- 
ful labor  for  the  common  weal  had  molded  his  mind, 
had  modified  an  aggressive  personality. 

The  church,  although  in  excess  of  the  local  require- 
ments as  a  rule,  was  very  full  this  morning  in  No- 
vember. It  was  an  hour  of  Thanksgiving.  The  goal 
had  been  reached.  Victory,  complete  and  final,  had 
come  almost  like  a  thief  in  the  night.  And  its  com- 
ing had  revealed,  in  a  manner  transcending  even  the 
awful  dramas  of  old,  the  omnipotence  of  the  moral 
law.  Yet  again  the  God  of  Righteousness  had  de- 
clared Himself  in  Sovereign  power. 

Grim  perils  had  been  surmounted  by  the  devotion 
of  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the  race,  but  very  much 
remained  to  do.  Behind  the  humble  gratitude  to  the 
Giver  of  Victory,  behind  the  sense  of  exultation  so 
rightly  uppermost  this  Sabbath  morning,  was  in  every 

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THE  UNDEFEATED 

heart  a  desolating  sense  of  the  cost  in  human  lives  and 
a  deep  anxiety  for  the  future. 

The  Vicar  of  the  parish,  by  name  the  Reverend  Cor- 
field  Stanning,  was  a  white-haired  man  who  had  given 
soul  and  kin  freely  to  the  Cause.  He  was  a  son  of 
the  soil,  a  type  of  the  almost  extinct  squarson  who 
survives  here  and  there  in  England,  half  landowner, 
half  patriarch,  less  a  scholar  than  a  sportsman  and  a 
man  of  the  world.  For  that  reason,  perhaps,  he  had 
the  practical  wisdom  that  books  do  not  give.  He  had 
the  instinct  for  affairs  which  men  of  his  type  seldom 
lack. 

Victory  was  with  the  arms  of  Right.  The  people 
did  well  to  rejoice.  But  also  it  was  a  time  for  prayer, 
for  steadfast  dedication  to  the  gigantic  tasks  ahead. 
The  man-eating  tiger  was  in  the  net.  It  now  remained 
to  repair  the  havoc  he  had  wrought,  and  to  provide 
security  for  generations  unborn  against  his  kind. 

Having  humbly  thanked  the  Giver,  the  old  man 
prayed  for  his  country  and  for  those  noble  races  of 
which  it  was  the  foster-mother.  He  prayed  for  all 
her  wide-flung  peoples  to  whom  the  Keys  had  been 
given ;  he  prayed  that  the  Pioneers  of  sacred  liberties 
so  long  in  peril,  those  one  in  name  and  in  blood  over 
all  the  wide  seas,  who  hold  Milton's  faith,  who  speak 
Shakespeare's  tongue  may  ever  stand  as  now,  shoulder 
to  shoulder  in  the  gate. 

He  prayed  for  all  those  children  of  men  grown  old 
and  weak  in  bondage,  whose  chains  had  at  last  been 

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THE  UNDEFEATED 

cast  off.  He  besought  the  Divine  grace  to  guide 
them. 

Finally,  he  prayed  for  the  Co-trustees  of  the  future 
and  that  the  Divine  wisdom  encompass  them  in  their 
reckoning  with  a  cruel  and  unworthy  foe.  He  asked 
that  mercy  be  extended  to  those  who  had  denied  it 
to  others,  not  that  it  was  in  his  heart  to  pity  them  in 
their  eclipse  or  to  spare  them  aught  of  their  desert, 
but  that  the  name  of  the  Master  be  served,  in  whom 
lay  the  ultimate  hope  of  the  world,  might  be  honored 
in  mankind's  supreme  yet  most  terrible  hour. 

When  the  old  man  came  to  his  brief  and  simple 
sermon  the  words  of  his  text  pierced  every  heart. 
"Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  he  lay  down 
his  life  for  his  friends." 

It  began  with  commemoration  of  a  humble  hero, 
known  to  many  in  that  church,  who  had  given  all  he 
had  to  give  without  stint  or  question.  And  he  read  a 
letter  written  from  the  sacred  and  recovered  soil  of 
France  by  the  officer  commanding  that  Band  of  Broth- 
ers raised  in  their  midst  to  the  wife  of  one  Sergeant 
William  Hollis,  who  had  died  a  soldier  and  a  gentle- 
man that  his  faith  and  his  friends  might  live 


THE  END 


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